


Constellations (tumblr prompts)

by charlottelennox



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15983558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottelennox/pseuds/charlottelennox
Summary: "Some people are born with tornadoes in their lives, but constellations in their eyes." - Nikita GillThis is a collection of ficlets and drabbles written in response to prompts I was sent on tumblr. Mostly Loki, Valki, and Loki & Thor, but more pairings may be added later. Thorki will possibly show up, but will be tagged. Chapter summaries inside.





	1. I.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valki, post-Ragnarok. Loki has a nightmare. Word count: 1200

 

**I.  
_Prompt:_** _Valkyrie helps Loki through a ptsd flashback or nightmare._

 

Valkyrie jolts awake without knowing why. There is a heavy weight painfully pinning one of her arms in place. She becomes aware of soft, strangled whimpers and knows they are not her own. The sound brings her fully into awareness and she rolls over in bed. Loki is having another nightmare.

His eyes move behind the lids rapidly, his breathing erratic, punctuated by the hushed cries he makes. He is clutching her arm so hard that it hurts, though she knows he is not aware that he is doing so. Valkyrie carefully twists her arm from his fingers, propping herself up and nudging his shoulder. “Loki,” she whispers - then, louder. “Loki, wake up.”

She shakes his shoulder a bit harder. Loki’s eyes fly open as he lets out a scream, the sound hoarse and full of agony; it is a sound that will never not pierce Valkyrie’s heart, no matter how many times she hears it. Still, she only smooths some of his hair away from his face. “Loki, you’re all right,” she murmurs, “it’s just me.”

He is not quite awake yet - it always takes a few seconds for him to realize where he is. At her words, he recoils; he jerks away from her touch while at the same time thrusting a dagger to her throat, lightning-fast. She is used to this. She can’t help but think how impressive his reflexes and ability to conjure weapons without a second thought, even half asleep, would be if it were not a reaction against what he perceives as a very real threat. There’s nothing impressive about how deep his fear runs, how much anguish these dreams cause him.

Valkyrie wraps a hand around his, gently but firmly pushing the dagger away. “You’re safe, Loki. It’s me,” she repeats, and only then do Loki’s eyes focus on her. He realizes and immediately drops the dagger; it clatters softly to the floor as Loki pulls himself up, breathing hard.

“Val,” he murmurs. He never calls her  _Val_  unless he is disoriented. “I didn’t - I’m sorry, was I - did I hurt you?”

Valkyrie shakes her head. His skin is clammy, cold; she reaches for his brow, again smoothing his hair back. “No. Everything is fine.” Her hand lingers after she tucks some of his hair behind his ear. She traces the outline of his jaw with her thumb, watching as the last bit of confusion fades from his face. His expression collapses and he closes his eyes tightly, dragging in a deep breath.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says.

“I know.” She moves her hand to his shoulder; his muscles are tight beneath her fingers, tension radiating from him in waves. “We can talk about it, if you want.”

Immediately, Loki shakes his head. When he opens his eyes again, they are bright. Loki’s instincts to keep his pain closely guarded to his heart rival his quick instincts in drawing a blade; each is an ingrained reaction to him, as second-nature as breathing. Valkyrie has learned this, but she’s also learned that if she does not push, he is more pliant. She keeps rubbing his shoulder, her fingers working comforting circles into the muscles she can already feel relaxing beneath her touch. Loki rubs his eyes, takes a few more breaths, and then finally says, “There were insects. They held me down, put them inside me - I could feel them under my skin, crawling and multiplying and digging. It … it  _hurt_ , so much, and they just - I was -” he breaks off with a shudder, pressing his lips together. He absently scratches at his arms, as if he can still feel the insects there.

Valkyrie suppresses a shiver of her own. Loki has never really told her who  _they_ were, though she knows that when he’d been held captive by Thanos, he’d been tortured and tormented by beings who called themselves his children. Mostly, she assumes it was them; sometimes, however, Loki mentions the Chitauri and indicated they had some hand in it as well. The pieces are all very fragmented, to her, but she does not need to know the entire story to know how real Loki’s fear still is, how real his experiences had been.

She lets go of his shoulder and covers his hands with hers to stop him from scratching his arms. Loki’s various, anxiety-fueled tics can cause him to inadvertently harm himself if he is not careful. “Hey. It’s over now,” she reminds him. She leans in and presses her forehead to his. “You’re safe now, okay? No one is ever going to do that to you again. I won’t let them.”

Loki seems to truly focus on her for the first time. His brilliant green eyes flash as if he is annoyed, but they soften again a moment later. Loki’s pride would always resist against her protective tendencies, but he’s gotten better about it. “I know you think that,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I know that,” she corrects, gently. “They’d have to kill me to get to you.”

“They would, without a second thought,” Loki replies, and suddenly his mouth is on hers. Valkyrie lets herself sink, briefly, into it, but she pulls back again before she can lose herself. “If that happened,” Loki goes on, softly, against her lips, “I might as well be dead, too.”

“You are either very romantic or very foolish,” she responds. Loki feels things so deeply. It had surprised her to learn this, to realize just how much he hid beneath his aloof exterior. He keeps everything so tightly suppressed inside of him, not because he does not feel things but because, she has come to find, he fears that if he did not, he will come undone under the weight of it.

“Perhaps both,” he suggests, and just a hint of humor flickers into his eyes.

“Perhaps.” Valkyrie places both of her hands on either side of his face. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to happen to either of us, Loki, all right? Not tonight, not tomorrow, not months from now. It’s just us here, and we’re safe.”

Loki nods. Valkyrie can tell that he does not believe her, but he  _wants_ to, and that is progress, in its own way. She sighs and closes the very small space between their lips, listening to the quick inhale of his breath. She parts his lips and slides her tongue into his mouth, presses into him until she feels his heartbeat quicken and his arms come around her, pulling her even closer.

“If you’re trying to distract me,” he murmurs when he breaks from her, “it’s working.”

“That so?” Valkyrie dips her head to his neck, drops lingering kisses against his skin.

His fingers, resting against her hip, tighten. “Mhm.”

She can feel the hurried pace of his pulse beneath her mouth and she hides a smile in the dips of his collarbone. “Then I shall continue to distract you,” she says, and eases him back down onto the bed.

And Loki does not protest.


	2. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor & Loki, post-Ragnarok. Word count: 1430.

 

**II.  
_Prompt:_** _ Loki overheats but tries to hide it from those around him. _

New York, Loki thought, was a sweltering, disgusting, mortal realm that rivaled Muspelheim for its scorching heat. But where Muspelheim was fiery red and suffocatingly dry, New York was deceitful shades of blue sky and green trees. The sun scorched down in cheerful gold rays and the soft breezes that Loki occasionally caught smelled sweetly of honeysuckle.

It could have been Asgard, except that Asgard was never so overwhelmingly hot. The mortals called this time of year  _summer_ , and it lasted only a few of their months. By the last week of the month called June, Loki was ready to gladly slit his own throat and sent his soul to Helheim because that realm, at least, was blessedly cool and dark.

“Thor,” Loki said one day, “would it absolutely kill you to make it rain once in awhile?”

He and Thor shared a small apartment in New Asgard’s temporary complex, which was not far from the Avengers Compound upstate.  Ultimately, they would establish themselves in Norway, Denmark, or Finland - environments which, to Loki’s understanding, were much more accommodating to those of Jotun origin. However, there was a lot of red tape to unravel before they could get there.

“Freezing rain, preferably,” Loki went on. “Or call in some clouds for the remainder of the summer? Dark ones?”

Loki was laying on the couch, an arm draped over his eyes to block out the light, so he did not see Thor’s expression. His brother’s amusement was palpable, though, and it made Loki’s nerves itch. “That would be a gross misuse of power,” Thor replied. “Maybe if you didn’t wear seventeen layers of clothing at all times, you’d be more comfortable.”

Loki made a sound like a growl low in his throat. He lifted his arm just enough to peer at Thor, who was idly flipping through the contents of a manilla folder. More paperwork from Stark, most likely. “If we were not banished to this miserable, oppressive realm, my choice in apparel  would not be an issue,” he bit out.

“Well, we are, so it is,” Thor said. “Sorry, brother. You’ll just have to take a cold shower like the rest of the mortals.”

“You are utterly useless,” Loki said, covering his eyes again so that he did not have to look at Thor’s smug face. “No one will ever call you the God of Sympathy, that’s for certain.”

“And  _you_ shall never be the God of Not Complaining. We’ve all got our own burdens to bear.”

 _I hate you,_ Loki thought viciously, and closed his eyes.

* * * 

During the first week of July, the American mortals celebrated a holiday called Independence Day. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to rain out the festivities,” Loki suggested to Thor as they walked the mile or so to the Avengers compound.

“Sorry. The weather forecasters have predicted clear skies all day,” Thor replied. “And before you ask, no, you are not staying home. This is supposed to be a fun day.”

Stark was hosting something called a “barbeque.” Thor’s invitation was a given, but Stark had extended one to Loki, too, to everyone’s surprise. Loki’s dealings with the Avengers tended to be limited to meetings during which he represented Asgard as a member of Thor’s council.  Loki could not begin to guess at what had possessed Stark to change the status quo, but Thor leapt on the opportunity to include Loki so enthusiastically that Loki could not bring himself to deny it.

Unfortunately, most of the festivities were going to be held outside. It was only mid-morning, but already the sun was beating down relentlessly. There was not a single cloud in the endless blue sky, Loki noted with a scowl; they were only halfway there before Loki began to feel dizzy. Sweat dampened his forehead and clung to the nape of his neck; he pushed his hands through his hair and coveted Thor’s shorn locks. Thor’s hair was growing back, but it was not even a fraction of the length it had once been. Loki looked enviously at Thor’s bare ears and neck as he let his hands fall back to his sides.

“Thor,” Loki asked, “did you bring any water?”

“No, why?”

“No reason,” Loki muttered.

They walked on.

* * * 

One of the many conclusions Loki had come to about Midgard was that its food left very much to be desired. He had yet to find anything he truly enjoyed eating - at best, some meals were more tolerable than others. Barbeque food did not fall into the tolerable category, though.

“Hey, Reindeer Games! Is that all you’re eating?” asked Tony Stark, nodding toward the paper plate Thor had practically shoved into his hands with the order to  _fill up and enjoy yourself, brother!_  

 _Witless oaf,_  Loki thought, but he’d obediently put a spoonful of potato salad and a few Doritos on his plate. His untouched serving looked pitiful.

“I’m not that hungry,” Loki murmured. Despite the tension between himself and the rest of the Avengers - his presence on Earth was tolerated but not particularly welcomed - Loki did make an effort to not antagonize any of them, so he refrained from snapping something obnoxious.

“Are you ever?” Tony asked with a wry smile. “You could stand to put on a pound or twenty. You want a burger? I can get you a burger.”

The thought of a burger - one of the things Thor liked but Loki found repulsive - turned his stomach.  He felt on edge, dizzy and nauseous. “If I wanted one, I would have gotten one,” he said, a bit too sharply.

Tony shrugged, unbothered. “Well,  _I’m_  going to get a burger. And a Coke. At least come get a drink with me.”

Loki sighed, setting his plate down on a nearby table and falling into step behind Stark. He had no idea why Tony was going out of his way to be sociable with him. He grasped at the collar of his t-shirt - a slovenly garment, really, but Thor, half-witted liar,  had insisted it would help him keep cool - and fanned it a bit as he’d seen someone else do. The air remained sticky and still. It was hard to breathe.

Tony was chattering about Norns knew what, and he paused in front of a large container filled to the brim with ice. Several colorful bottles and cans were stuck in the ice and at the sight of it, Loki had the overwhelming, absurd urge to throw himself face-first into the container and claw his way to the chilly bottom. A low, whimpering sound slipped out, which earned him a strange look from Stark.

“You don’t look so good, Reindeer Games” Tony said, digging into the ice and emerging with two bright red aluminum cans. He handed one to Loki. “Are you sick?”

“I’m fine.” The can was cold between his palms, but not nearly cold enough. “Why do you call me that?” he asked, to change the subject. Tony was looking at him far too probingly. “Reindeer Games.”

“Oh.” Tony blinked and then popped the top on his can, taking a long swig. Loki watched how it was done before he repeated the gesture with his own can. The beverage was not very good at all, but Loki drank it quickly anyway, relishing in the relief it brought his parched throat. He swallowed the entire contents of the can in one swig.

“It’s a movie,” Tony went on, swiftly handing Loki another can. “Not a great one, but your helmet - you know, the horns? - made me think of it. First time I saw you, I mean. What can I say, it stuck.”

What a stupid reason.

Loki drank his second Coke without replying. It should have made him feel better, but if anything, his stomach grew even more uneasy. The sun was so relentless. He felt sweat trickling down his back, the heat so stifling that it was hard to breathe. He did not know how the humans stood it. No one else seemed particularly bothered, but Loki felt as if he could drop dead then and there.

“Hey, Earth to Loki,” Tony was saying, but the words barely registered. His vision was growing dark and the world seemed to be swaying. Distantly, as if through a tunnel, he heard Tony call out for Thor, and then everything was dark, a low hum buzzing in his ears.

* * * 

That afternoon, a sudden, inexplicable thunderstorm rolled in, the weather dropping several degrees as thick gray clouds covered up the sun. It remained so for an entire blessed week.

After that, Thor and Loki bought an air-conditioner.


	3. III.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki, pre-canon. The snake story. Word count: 2150

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my take on the snake story from Ragnarok, written with the headcanon that Asgardian-8 can be the equivalent of human-13/14.

 

 

**III.  
_Prompt: _** _Loki getting into some playful mischief, but it all goes wrong (when doesn't it ever?)._

It is summer on Asgard, and Thor and Loki sprawl in the damp grass beneath the largest banyan tree on the palace lawn, each munching contentedly on a golden apple. It is uncomfortably hot this time of year, but the banyan tree stretches wide, like a sun-drenched parasol, so the heat does not bother them. The tree rests on the banks of what one could call a lake, if he were being generous; really, it is more of a pond, but the water is crystal-clear and sparkles beneath the sunlight and Loki and Thor have spent the majority of the morning swimming and splashing in the shallows. They lay opposite one another, their bare feet and calves entangled, as the sun slowly dries out their hair.

Thor has been uncharacteristically quiet for several minutes. He may be asleep. Loki is occupying himself with magic, practicing the illusion spell his mother had taught him just yesterday. Green and gold seidr flickers from his fingertips as he experiments with casting illusions over the remainder of his apple, turning it into an orange, a pear, a mango.

He has just managed to make the apple appear as blue as the sky when Thor speaks up, sounding sleepy. “How do you do that?” he asks, and Loki looks up to find Thor gazing at the apple with half-lidded eyes.

“Magic,” Loki says simply.

“I know  _that_. But how does it work?” Thor stretches a bit. “If you change what it is, does that mean the original enchantment no longer holds? Does it just become a regular apple?”

Idunn’s golden apples are said to be the secret to immortality, but their mother says these are just rumors. “It was always a regular apple,” Loki tells Thor, “and even if it wasn’t, I’m not changing what the apple  _is_. I’m just changing how you see it.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Oh, Thor.” Loki shakes his head patiently. “You just don’t understand magic, even if I were to explain it to you.”

Thor scoffs a bit. “Yes, well, I don’t need to understand magic. When I am King, I’ll be more powerful than even Father.” Boasting about the day he becomes king is one of Thor’s favorite pastimes, and it never fails to make Loki’s skin itch hotly. 

“Who says you will be king?” Loki counters. He casts a shimmer over the apple once more, and it returns to its original form. “Father says we are _both_  born to be kings.”

“Yes, but I am older than you.” It is Thor’s turn to sound patiently patronizing.  “You’ll only be king if I die.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Loki snaps. “You’re not going to die.”

“Right, which means  _you_  are not going to be king, so I don’t need your dumb magic.” The words roll easily off of Thor’s tongue, like simple fact, but Loki feels as if he’s had a dagger shoved between his ribs.

Thor speaks the truth, but it hurts anyway. It hurts from the inside out, and Loki hurls his apple at Thor, hitting him square in the face.

“Ow!” Thor exclaims, his eyes widening as his hand flies to his cheek. “What in the Norns was that for?”

“I wanted you to know what it feels like to be me,” Loki responds coldly. He stands up and brushes the dirt from his breeches; he keeps his shoulders rigid as he stalks toward the palace, leaving a bewildered Thor in his wake.

* * * 

By the time evening meal rolls around, their quarrel has passed. Loki is no longer visibly angry at Thor, but he is still sulky, his feelings still hurt. He has learned by now that Thor is not likely to apologize for the slight, and that Loki must pretend it does not bother him until the hurt passes on its own. His mind spins with trickery he can throw at Thor to prove magic isn’t stupid, but none of his ideas really take hold.

“Hurry up,” Thor prods Loki, after they have been excused from the meal table. It is the end of the week, which means Fandral and Hogun will be waiting for Thor and Loki to join them for mead and stories around a fire. Occasionally, Volstagg brings his young children and joins them; sometimes, Sif makes an appearance, as well. Loki knows that Thor’s friends do not like him much, but they all must admit that Loki tells the best stories, so they keep inviting him back each week.

“Stop rushing me,” Loki retorts, and he and Thor begin shoving one another as they tumble down the hallway, away from the dining room.

“I wouldn’t have to rush you if you weren’t so slow,” Thor complains. “Why must you always walk as if you have an eternity to get where you are going?”

“I like to take my time,” Loki says, his shoulders rising and falling. “What is the point in stumbling around everywhere, as if Ragnarok itself will befall Asgard if you are late?”

“One day, Ragnarok  _will_  befall Asgard,” Thor says, solemnly, “and when it does, brother, I sincerely hope you are not late to the fight.”

Loki makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Why should I bother showing up at all? I only have my  _dumb magic_ , after all.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re still cross about that.” Thor nudges Loki’s shoulder with his own. “You can be so childish with your grudges.”

Heat warms Loki’s cheeks, and he scowls. “I am only making a point.”

“Which is?”

“That you do not value my magic.”

“Well, you must admit,” Thor says, “it’s not a  _real_  fighting skill. That’s why it’s just women - usually - who learn magic. What good will it do you on the battlefield?” Catching the crestfallen look on Loki’s face, Thor just laughs good-naturedly. “Don’t pout, I’m only jesting. Hey, if we need someone to turn the enemies’ swords into apples, you’ll come in handy, indeed.” He claps Loki on the shoulder and ruffles his hair.

There is a twisting in Loki’s stomach that makes him feel ill. Still, he forces a smile. “Indeed,” he echoes, and veers slightly away from Thor. “You go ahead, I just remembered something I forgot from my chambers. I’ll be there shortly.”

“All right,” Thor agrees. He tugs Loki’s hair affectionately, and then lets go.

* * * 

Loki hears the voices carrying from the fire pit clearly, which is good - he has not fully mastered his shapeshifting skills and he’s never tried to be a snake before. He did not know snakes could hear, but as he slithers his way through the warm earth, he feels as if he is still in his own body, for he can see and hear perfectly.

He cannot help but feel proud of himself; it was getting easier to shapeshift each time he tried it, and he had chosen a particularly beautiful snake to replicate, if he did say so himself. This form is sleek and jet-black, with very thin green and gold stripes. Confidence surges through this body; Loki feels almost giddy with it. He opens his mouth and bears his fangs; he flicks his tongue out and hisses.

He feels like a dangerous thing, a  _wicked_ thing, and he cannot deny that it is thrilling.

His plan is simple. Thor likes snakes, and will not be able to resist a snake as beautiful as Loki has become. Loki will slither up to the fire, allow Thor to admire his form and then, when Thor does not expect it, Loki will return to his own form.

It is very, very rare but, when Thor is truly startled, he will let out a high-pitched scream, a hilarious sound coming from one whose body is already so large. Loki is positive he is the only person in the Nine Realms who has heard Thor make such a sound. Tonight, however, Thor’s friends will be in for a hilarious treat, indeed, while Loki will have the satisfaction of seeing Thor embarrassed for once.

The fire has been started and Loki sees Fandral drinking generously from a pint of mead. Thor is laughing, occasionally darting glances at Sif, whose dark hair gleams in the firelight. There is no sign yet of Hogun, and Loki wonders if he should wait, so that as many of Thor’s friends hear him scream as possible. But, no - Hogun never reacts to anything, anyway, and though Loki enjoys this form, he is not sure how long he can maintain it. He is still learning.

Loki slithers right up to Thor’s boots, sliding around one ankle. “Oh!” Thor exclaims, and laughs a bit as he notices the snake. “It seems we will have an extra companion around the fire tonight.”

“What a beautiful creature!” Sif exclaims as Thor kneels down, scooping Loki up into his arms. Being lifted up as if he weighs nothing - which he supposes is accurate - is a strange sensation, and Loki cannot help a hiss of surprise. Thor smooths his fingers over Loki’s scaly skin as if to calm him.

“Beautiful, and quite large,” Fandral agrees. He grins, handing Sif the mead, and draws a dagger. “Large enough to feed a few warriors, do you not agree, Thor?”

If Loki were capable of speech, he would have yelped in protest. He hisses at Fandral, baring his fangs, and Thor laughs.

“I don’t think he likes that idea,” Thor responds, stroking his fingers over Loki’s tiny skull. “Snake meat  _is_ delicious over a fire, though.”

“Do you men never stop thinking with your stomachs?” Sif asks with an eye roll. “You most certainly will not be eating that exquisite thing.”

“Oh, must you spoil all the fun, Sif?” Fandral complains.

Loki decides he has had quite enough. Fandral’s dagger is uncomfortably close, and Thor’s grip on him is too loose for Loki’s liking.

Everything happens quickly after that.

Once Loki decides to return to his own form, his grasp on the snake’s falters, and he finds himself changing back rapidly. Thor’s eyes widen and he lets out a cry of surprise, though not the shrill shriek Loki had hoped for. Still, the look on his face is reward enough.

“It’s me!” Loki cries gleefully as he and Thor start to topple over under Loki’s sudden weight. Sif and Fandral have let out their own shouts of surprise and then Loki sees the glint of metal as Fandral’s blade is hurled at them.

“Fandral!” Loki shouts; he is quick enough to catch the dagger, but not quick enough to stop himself and Thor from falling. They land in a heap, each breathing hard.

Fandral’s eyes go wide. “ _Loki?_ ” he demands, and then lets out a startled laugh. “Oh, you gave me a fright, I’m sorry.”

Sif snorts, a hand over her heart.

And then Thor lets out a grunt of pain. There, just under his ribcage, sticks the dagger, Loki’s grip still firmly on the hilt.

Immediately, Loki lets go. He scrambles off of Thor, feeling his heart leap into his throat. “Thor,” Loki breathes. “Thor, it was an accident, I’m sorry.”

Sif hurries forward, glaring at Loki, but Thor just forces a smile. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I don’t think it’s too bad. I think I need the healers, though.”

“Of course.” Loki stumbles, all of his graceful prowess falling away as swiftly as the glamour of the snake had disappeared. Together, he and Sif help Thor get back to his feet. Sif is still glaring at Loki, and despite himself, irritation prickles along his skin.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he snaps at her. “Fandral’s the one who threw the dagger.”

“Only because you startled us,” Sif retorts. “Will you never tire of your tricks, Loki? Look how you’ve hurt Thor for your fun.”

“It was an  _accident_ ,” Loki says hotly.

“It really was an accident,” Fandral agrees, falling into step with them. “Sif, let it be.”

“One of these days, it won’t be an accident,” Sif says tightly, “or the injury will be more severe. Is that what it will take for you to grow up?”

“Leave him alone,” Thor growls, with such a sudden ferocity that the color drains from Sif’s face. “Loki was just having a bit of fun. That’s what he does. Now, can we get me to the healer before I bleed out, or shall I quietly die while you all quarrel?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Thor,” Fandral says, and forces a laugh. He appears very eager to break the tension and, grudgingly, Sif presses her lips together and says no more. Thor gives Loki a smile, understanding and somewhat amused, but Loki cannot bring himself to smile back. He feels a great, cold weight settle in his core, and he must blink back tears as, silently, the group made their way back to the palace.


	4. IV.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valki. Post-Ragnarok. Loki and Val take a vacation. Word count: 1250

 

 

 

**IV.  
_Prompt:  _** _Loki and Val go on vacation (because they deserve some fun and what not)..._

 

Sometimes, when it comes to Valkyrie, Loki feels as if he standing at the edge of a cliff. The drop is steep and terrifying and the rocks at the bottom promise a crushing oblivion. His feet are planted firmly on the ground, but they are too close to the edge and he is leaning over too far. Eventually, he will lose his balance.

The worst part isn’t that the fall will kill him. No - the fall will merely smash him into a million sentient pieces once he hits the bottom. When that happens, he will lay there, unable to put himself back together. He will stare up at the cliff he’d fallen from, and he will remember how good it felt to be up so high and how foolish he was to believe it could last.

* * * 

It’s not long before Loki figures out where the dimensional folds are, hidden pathways not between realms but between continents, states, and cities all across the globe. Though the planet is small, Midgardian travel is very antiquated. It takes hours to get anywhere, days to get anywhere interesting. Loki simply does not have the patience for it.

He slips away often, traveling from their temporary location in New York to Norway, Russia, Germany. He simply wants to explore. Often, he is back in New York before the afternoon is finished.

When Valkyrie asks one day where he’s always disappearing to, he shows her by grasping her hand and before she knows what is happening, they are standing on a beach in Massachusetts, cold wind whipping around them.

“Oh,” Valkyrie says, and laughs, squeezing his hand more tightly. When she smiles at him, Loki feels like he is on that cliff again. “Well, this certainly isn’t the worst way to spend an afternoon.”

* * * 

They go to the French Riviera, which even Loki must admit is stunning. The water shines like a blue jewel surrounded by lush greenery and white sands. The temperature, though warmer than he’d prefer, is not intolerable. They go to a cafe on a quiet, cobbled street and sit in the outdoor area. Loki sits back, looking at Valkyrie across the table.

“What,” she asks, lifting an eyebrow.

Loki just shrugs, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “France suits you,” he tells her. Perhaps it is the tranquility of their surroundings, but Valkyrie already looks relaxed in a way she never does back in New York. Her shoulders aren’t so stiff, her features not so drawn.

“I wish I could say the same for you,” she replies, and reaches across the table, closing her hand gently over his. “You look sad, though.”

“Do I?” Loki tilts his head and gives her a smile that he knows seems forced. He is incapable of just enjoying himself, incapable of not thinking too much. He imagines he looks sad because he cannot stop thinking that his days with Valkyrie are numbered. They have to be, because he is never allowed to keep that which makes him happy.

“I just wish life was always like this,” he hears himself say. “With us … sometimes I worry it will not last,” he admits. The words make him feel immediately vulnerable and he doesn’t look her in the eye. He twists a napkin around in his fingers.

Valkyrie draws back. “Do you want to know a term I heard the other day on television?” she asks. “ _Debbie Downer_. It’s a person who always sees the negative, never the positive. And Loki, you are the biggest Debbie Downer on the planet.”

Loki laughs and rolls his eyes. “What a ludicrous term,” he says.

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” Valkyrie says with a shrug. “It’s okay, though. We’re going to fix it.”

* * * 

When they leave the cafe, Valkyrie announces, “We are going to the beach.” They find a secluded stretch of sand far from the board walk and stand side-by-side, gazing out over the ocean.

“Take your shoes off,” Valkyrie tells him. She is already leaning over, unfastening her boots.

“What?”

“Just do it.” She yanks off one of her boots and tosses it aside. Loki sighs, but follows her lead until they are both barefoot with the cuffs of their pants rolled up. Loki feels ridiculous.

“Where’s your phone?” Cell phones are a necessity on Midgard, but Loki only carries one because Thor insisted on it. He digs the sleek, black object from his pocket and hands it to her. She sets it down along with hers next to their boots, and then slips her hand in his. A cool breeze rushes in from the sea, and Loki closes his eyes to breathe in deeply. It truly is beautiful, peaceful, and Loki can feel some of the tension draining from him.

“Is this supposed to help me stop being a Debbie Downer?” he asks, without opening his eyes.

“Is it working?”

“I don’t know. I suppose so.”

She sucks air through her teeth. “Not good enough,” she determines. Then, as fast as a flicker of lightning from Thor’s fingers, her hold on him tightens. She wraps her hand around his arm in an iron grip and the next thing he knows, he’s hurtling through the air. Loki lets out a yelp just before he crashes into the water, sinking beneath the waves, the freezing ocean seeping into his bones.

Surprise, followed by anger, followed by sheer disbelief all roil through him as he claws his way back to the surface. She’d thrown him clear past the shallows and when his head breaks through the waves, he has to tread water to keep afloat. He tosses his wet hair out of his eyes. “What in Odin’s name was that for?” he shouts. Valkyrie is still near the shore, doubled over, laughing. “Are you insane?”

“I am!” Valkyrie jumps into the waves, still laughing as she leaps and splashes her way over to him. Almost immediately upon reaching him, she places her hands on his head and shoves him back under the water. Loki comes back up sputtering.

“You see, my darling Loki,” Valkyrie says, floating backwards, “sometimes, you just need a good splash of cold water to get yourself out of your head.”

Loki glares. “You call that a  _splash_?”

“Yes. Be honest - what are you thinking, right at this very moment?”

“This.” Loki dives forward, catching her around her midsection and pulling her, shrieking, down under the water with him. The dull roar of the water around his ears does quiet his thoughts; he tugs Valkyrie closer and they break through the surface together, Loki laughing despite himself. Valkyrie drapes her arms around his shoulders, resting her wet forehead against his.

“We can be happy,” she tells him quietly. “We can have a good life. But you have to want it, Loki, and if you’re constantly doubting it will last, then you’re not working on wanting it enough to let it live. Stop worrying, beloved. Just be.”

“Just be,” Loki echoes. He sighs, closing his eyes. “Easier said than done.”

“Yes. But you don’t have to do it by yourself,” Valkyrie reminds him. “I’m right here.”

“Then I shall be right here with you,” he murmurs, bringing his mouth to hers. Her lips are salty from the sea. He kisses her, and in the back of his mind, he pictures her joining him on the cliff. She takes his hand in hers, and ever so gently tugs him back from the edge.


	5. V.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valki, post-Sanctuary. Thor walks in on Val and Loki having a moment. Word count: 1200.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Sanctuary universe and follows that canon, taking place a couple of days after they leave Deaphus.

 

**V.  
_Prompt:  _**   _Valkyrie and Loki try to find some privacy at the ship full of people and keep failing at that._

The journey to Heliopolis had taken only a day and a half when she and Loki traveled in the  _Commodore,_ but Valkyrie was dismayed to realize that it would take the refugee ship four or five days due to it being a much larger, much  _slower_ vessel. Their furlough and promise of a relatively short trip to Midgard had spoiled her, made her intolerable of the small, cramped spaces on board and the many, many people who had to share them.

Valkyrie rummaged through her meager belongings, searching for her flask of dark rum. She was trying to conserve her alcohol stash, because whatever she’d find on Midgard would inevitably be too weak to satisfy her, but it was only the second day back on board and her nerves were already on edge. Dagny had been chatting all morning about all of the wonderful Earth things Bruce had told her about, until Valkyrie couldn’t take it anymore and sent her off to play with some children,  _any_ children, as long as she left Valkyrie alone for awhile. She felt bad about it, in retrospect, but Dagny had not been too phased.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, unearthing the flask from beneath the folds of a worn, navy-blue blanket. She sat back on her haunches, noticing that her fingers shook as she undid the cap. The rum was warm and sweet, going down. It was like a salve, immediately soothing her rough edges. She could practically  _feel_ the tension flowing out of her. She drank more than she meant to and, when she finally lowered the flask and wiped her mouth, noted with some irritation that most of it was now gone.

 _Careless._ Valkyrie straightened and got to her feet. She knew that, if she truly got desperate, Loki could use his magic to refill it - but, she wanted to save that particular option for when she really needed it. She set the flask aside and walked down the hall to Loki’s quarters. He answered the door several moments after she knocked, as if he were on the other side, trying to decide whether or not to open it. He was so  _prickly_ , she thought, so afraid of admitting that he might actually enjoy spending time with someone other than himself. It was endearing - to an extent.

“Hi,” Loki said, giving her one of his half-smiles as he held the door open. “Everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Valkyrie moved past him into his room. It was just as small as hers, but it felt more stifling since it was bare except for the white sheets and blankets on the bed. “Do you actually  _own_ anything?” she asked, spinning in a half-circle as she took in her surroundings. She never saw any of his personal effects but surely he had to have some. “Or do you just exist on a higher plane than the rest of us, where material possessions are not necessary?”

“The latter, mostly,” Loki replied, which earned him a roll of her eyes. He closed the door and leaned against it, watching her. “I have things,” he went on. “In a safe place.”

Valkyrie  _hmph_ ed. Then, as if she owned his quarters, she dropped down on the bed, getting some satisfaction out of rumpling the perfectly straightened sheets. She wriggled around a little, disturbing them even more, and was gratified when a look of annoyance passed over his features.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked dryly.

“I’d be enjoying myself more were I not alone,” she replied, and lifted her eyebrows at him.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, but he took the bait. “You,” he said as he sat down on the bed next to her, “are an incredibly irritating woman.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and grasped the collar of his shirt. She lay down easily, pulling him down on top of her, her mouth already on his before he could protest. Not that he would. This thing between them was still very new and yet she was already beginning to recognize his tells, learning how to kiss him so that whatever he was thinking retreated toward the back of his mind. She could feel it in the way he relaxed against her, how his mouth moved pliantly against hers and how his breath quickened not with anxiety but arousal.

It gave her no small measure of satisfaction to be able to affect him this way, he who was so standoffish the rest of the time. The time it took to crack his walls was worth it if it brought her this end result, but she was also keenly aware that they still had a long way to go.

Valkyrie slid her hands into his hair, which she had been surprised to discover was deceptively soft. It gave easily beneath her fingers. She trailed a lazy path from the nape of his neck down beneath his collar and then to his shoulders, applying soft pressure to his tense muscles. He made a sound like a sigh, adjusting slightly as he slipped a hand beneath her tunic. She arched a bit into his touch -

“Oh, uh, whoa,” a voice rumbled from the doorway, and Valkyrie jerked away, more startled than embarrassed. The same could not be said for Loki, whose cheeks flushed as he rolled away from her, shooting Thor - who stood in the doorway - a look that would have murdered him on the spot, were such things possible.

“Sorry,” Thor went on, lifting his hands. “I guess - I guess this is a thing that I have to be aware of now, huh? That image is going to haunt me for awhile. My own fault. Sorry.”

“Did you want something?” Loki asked edgily.

“Nothing important. I just came to ask - there was a thing about the manifest, but … it can wait.”  Thor edged back, visibly shrinking under the full heat of Loki’s glare. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just come back later.”

Then he was gone, closing the door loudly behind him, and Loki exhaled as he dropped his head back on the mattress. “Thor,” he said, “has never once, in our entire lives, knocked on a damn door.”

Valkyrie laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I’ll bet you ten gold coins that he will from now on,” she returned, letting her forehead fall against his chest. “Did you see the  _look_ on his face?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “No. I was too busy plotting his murder.”

“Mm. And what did you come up with?” The mood was more or less broken, since privacy was too much to hope for, but at least her own sulking claustrophobia had passed. They adjusted themselves, Valkyrie burrowing into the space at his side, resting her chin against his sternum. “Let me guess - dagger to the throat?”

“Too predictable,” Loki replied, exhaling a long breath. He brought his fingers up to idly card through her hair. “Thor expects that. Flaying is much more efficient. I could do it with the wave of a hand.”

“Ew.” Valkyrie wrinkled her nose. “No, you couldn’t. Could you?”

“I could, actually, but I wouldn’t.” Loki’s lips quirked in a wry grin. “Smells terrible.”

Valkyrie laughed and kissed him again.


	6. VI.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valki, post-Sanctuary. Loki lets Val in. Word count: 1950

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This adheres to Sanctuary canon, in that Loki let Valkyrie see into his mind in that story, and this refers to that incident. However, other than that, it can be considered separate if you want.

 

**VI.  
_Prompt:  _** _Loki finally tells/shows Valkyrie everything what Thanos and his children did to him._

 

Valkyrie did not always know when the shadows had swallowed Loki up again. Sometimes, Loki woke from his terror swiftly and quietly and the only way Valkyrie realized that the nightmares had gotten bad again was that he would simply stop sleeping.

Shiftiness was a part of Loki’s nature. Valkyrie didn’t think he even realized he was doing it, sometimes. He knew how to adjust his patterns and mannerisms to make it appear as if nothing was amiss. He’d crawl into bed with her at night, kiss her lazily and languidly, make love to her attentively and sweetly or quickly and roughly, depending on how their mood struck. Valkyrie often fell asleep before he did, drained from alcohol and the stresses of a long day. Even at the best of times, she slept more than he did. It was one of her disadvantages when it came to making sure he was sleeping at all.

Once a week, the Asgardians met with Tony Stark at the Avengers Compound. Stark was their liaison with the American government, due to his being the only remaining Avenger who wasn’t currently a fugitive - besides Thor, of course. Valkyrie did not really care much about Midgardian politics, but they had to be cooperative, especially considering the concessions the government had made regarding Loki’s criminal status.

Normally, during these meetings, Loki was imperious and quietly menacing. He was always poised and nearly silent, except to interject a few sarcastic remarks if someone said something he deemed particularly foolish. This day, however, Loki was very much not himself. Valkyrie sat back in her chair and openly watched him as he fidgeted, twisted his fingers, glanced around distractedly. Like the rest of them, Loki had a styrofoam cup filled with the humans’ weak excuse for coffee, but Valkyrie noticed a flicker of green dance from Loki’s fingertips to the cup more than once as he used his magic to strengthen the caffeine and refill the cup.

The third or fourth time he did it, Loki glanced up and caught Valkyrie’s gaze. She stared back at him evenly, watched as his mouth turned down at the corners and his shoulders slumped a bit. He looked away from her, but Valkyrie’s even stare had made her point: he’d been found out, and she was not happy.

* * *

“You’ve  _got_  to talk to me, Loki,” she told him later. She was sitting on the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest, as Loki paced back and forth, irritated and restless. He swayed a bit as he moved, and Valkyrie wondered if he was even aware of it. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me there’s a problem.”

“I never asked for your help,” Loki retorted, his thumbnail going to graze his palm. “Can you not just leave well enough alone?”

“Not when you’re practically falling asleep where you stand,” she pointed out. She raked her fingers through her hair and blew out an exasperated breath. “When’s the last time you slept?”

Loki’s shrug was a quick, dismissive motion. “I don’t know. What does it matter?”

Valkyrie felt a sudden urge of frustration swell up inside of her. She dropped her hands, reached for a glass that was sitting on the side table, and hurled it at his head.

He dodged it with infuriating ease, barely even blinking. Still, he did stop pacing. The glass shattered against the wall behind him, hard enough to splinter the wood. He faced her with his arms folded, arching an eyebrow. “I don’t think that was warranted,” he told her.

“It was very much warranted,” she snapped. “For Norns’ sake, Loki, you always make things so much harder than they have to be. Do you know how  _frustrating_ it is to watch someone you care about destroy himself? To not be able to do anything to help - to have your efforts spurned and scoffed at as if they are nothing? I’ve been doing the best I can, but I do have my limits.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You have your limits,” he repeated, and nodded. “So - what, you’re just going to give up, then? I suppose I should have expected it. I am too much to handle. Far be it for me to push you beyond your  _limits_.” He practically sneered with the last word, as if it tasted sour on his tongue.

Valkyrie’s patience snapped. She hopped to her feet and was over to him in less than two strides. “Don’t think that just because I care about you that I’ll just endlessly put up with your  _shit_ ,” she snapped. She grabbed his collar with both hands, more than ready to hurl him into the wall as she’d done the glass, but instead she just gripped him tightly.

His eyes were like green fire, blazing with a sudden fury to match her own. He yanked himself out of her grasp, shoving her back from him as if her touch burned. “You knew what you were getting into with me,” he retorted. “I told you from the beginning, I am not a good person.”

“It has nothing to do with being a good person or not.” Valkyrie’s tone betrayed her impatience. “It has to do with whether or not you’re willing to let me in. We can’t go halfway forever, Loki. Eventually, something’s gotta give. You can’t say that you want me but hold me at an arm’s length at the same time. Either I get all of you, or I get none of you.”

“And why is that?” Loki pushed frustrated hands through his hair. “Why must you be so focused on what I cannot give that you can’t be content with what I do? I do not give myself lightly to you, Valkyrie, but I try. I try so damn hard - why isn’t it  _enough_?”

Valkyrie exhaled. She felt her anger draining from her all at once. In its wake, there was a hard throbbing behind her ribs, the ache of exhaustion and loneliness and sadness twisting up inside of her to fill up the space where the anger had been. “That’s the thing,” she told him, shaking her head. “I know you believe you try. But you don’t, Loki, not really. You only try so long as it’s within the confines of what you find tolerable.”

“Valkyrie -”

She held up a hand. “If you don’t want to let me in, then don’t. Norns know I cannot force you, nor would I want to. But I won’t ask you anymore. If that’s what you want, to be left alone, then consider it done.”

As soon as the words were out, Valkyrie felt as if she were going to be sick. There was a nauseating finality to them, the implication loud and clear. From the look on his face, she knew Loki realized it, too. He was ashen, mouth open slightly, eyes suddenly very bright. But he did not speak, and after a few moments, the only thing Valkyrie could do was turn and walk away.

* * *

Loki found her two days later. It was not hard; she had barely left her apartment, choosing instead to immerse herself in alcohol and very bad Midgardian television (technology she found equal parts fascinating and ridiculous). She was curled up on the sofa, nursing a bottle of vodka while the screen danced colorfully in front of her, when Loki slipped in silently. She waited until he was sitting beside her, and then she reached for the remote and flicked the television off, plunging them into dark silence.

“Vodka?” she offered.

“No. Thank you.” Loki rested his elbows on his knees. He looked very uncomfortable.  _Good_ , Valkyrie thought. “I just … I came to apologize. You were right to say I don’t really try. With us, I mean.” Loki Silvertongue could be surprisingly inept at stringing together a sentence, when that sentence was admitting his own faults.

The thought made her realize she was still angry.

Still, she sat up a bit and turned so that she could face him easier. “Is that so,” she said, carefully.

Loki nodded and exhaled. “I am just - I don’t know how to let you in. The things in here …” He paused, and tapped his own temple, “aren’t … that is, I don’t -” He broke off, frustration coloring his features. He turned toward her and hesitantly reached out a hand for hers. “Can I show you?”

Valkyrie hesitated. He had only given her a glimpse inside of his mind once before and, despite her outward calm, what she’d seen had shaken her down to her core. But if she was going to demand all of him or none of him, then she could not pick and choose what  _all of him_  encompassed. “All right,” she agreed.

His fingers were cool to the touch but his face was surprisingly warm, as if he were feverish. He probably still had not slept, she thought idly, and then he was pressing her palm to his forehead and all of the rest of her thoughts vanished as she felt herself being pulled through the jagged threshold of Loki’s fragmented mind.

Like before, she was overwhelmed by the sheer pain that flowed through her - the impossible, heart wrenching sorrow that had deeply embedded itself into every inch of Loki’s subconscious. Valkyrie had a few seconds to acknowledge it, and then it was as if she disappeared completely and Loki took over.

Images flooded through her with perfect clarity. She saw him fall through the Void, brilliant colors and stars that enveloped him until it all faded into sheer blackness. There was Thanos, his twisted smile, his huge hands. Torture - beyond what she could ever imagine. A green-skinned woman with sorrowful eyes looking away with a tight jaw. Loki’s anguished screams, a scepter with a glowing blue stone, a portal.

And then she was rushing backwards, pulled gasping from the contact, and Loki was staring at her, wide-eyed, while she tried to catch her breath.

“Almost every night,” Loki said softly, while she tried to get her bearings back, “some version of that plays out in my dreams. I can’t stop it, I can’t erase it. I can’t control it. All I can do is … is not sleep. That’s the only way I can make it stop for awhile.”

Valkyrie pressed her fingers to her temples, which suddenly throbbed behind her eyes. For a brief, traitorous moment, she felt uncertainty spinning through her - worry that she could not handle this, that it was too much. She dropped her hands and looked at Loki’s wide green eyes, taking in the sheer vulnerability in his features. Her heart lurched with the depth of her feelings for him. This was not something he could walk away from, and so she would not walk away from it, either.

“All right,” she said aloud, reaching out to cup his face in her palm. She trailed the pad of her thumb along his jawline, watched him close his eyes and exhale. “We need to figure out another way to make it stop, then.”

“We,” he repeated tentatively, softly.

“We,” she said firmly. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his temple. “Let’s take it one night at a time. Tonight … try to sleep, Loki. And we’ll go from there. All of me and all of you.”

Relief flickered across his face, so open and unshielded that it almost broke her heart. She pulled Loki close, wrapping her arms around him, and he pressed his face to her shoulder, letting out a sound that might have been a sob. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “We’ll just start with a night’s sleep.”


	7. VII.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Valkyrie, post-Ragnarok. Thor takes Val drinking because she and Loki are fighting. Word count: 1250

 

 

**VII.** **  
_Prompt:  _**   _Loki & Val having an argument about something stupid & Thor gets involved bc he can’t stand how annoying they’re both being about it._

 

It was four tense days of Loki and Valkyrie going to great lengths to avoid one another before Thor took Valkyrie to a pub in town. They sat across from one another in a booth, the table-top sticky. Thor had a large mug of Midgardian beer; he had developed a taste for a brand called Heineken, a pale beer that was just sweet enough without being overwhelming. Loki had always had more of a sweet tooth than Thor did, he reflected, which was funny because Loki’s appetite had always been so miniscule in comparison to Thor’s.

Valkyrie had a cocktail made with something called Devil’s Springs vodka, which the waitress recommended when Valkyrie asked for the strongest liquor the pub served. “Bottoms up,” Thor said with a smile, and he and Valkyrie briefly clinked glasses. Once Thor had swallowed his sip of beer and Valkyrie downed her entire cocktail in less than three seconds, Thor sat back and fixed her with a steady gaze.

“So,” he said bluntly, “what’s going on between you and my brother?”

She rolled her eyes, fingers curling around the stem of her now-empty glass. “It’s none of your business,  _your Majesty_.”

“Maybe not,” he acknowledged, “but it’s obvious that  _something_  is going on. You two are normally attached at the hip.”

“We are not.” Valkyrie lifted a hand, gesturing at their waitress and, almost immediately, a new cocktail appeared. “What do you care, anyway?”

“Well, for one thing, it’s really irritating watching you two sulk about,” Thor returned, taking another sip of beer. “Also, when Loki’s in a mood, it can bode ill for everyone. He acts out, you know that. He doesn’t always have the best impulse control.”  _That_ was certainly an understatement, Thor reflected wryly.

“He’s not a child,” Valkyrie snapped, setting her cocktail glass down a bit harder than necessary - though not as hard as she could have. Once, she’d gotten frustrated at how weak Midgardian drink was and had slammed her glass down so hard that it shattered and broke off a large piece of their table. Asgardians were no longer welcome in that particular pub. “You don’t have to speak about him as if he’s throwing a temper tantrum.”

“I’m not,” Thor said gently. “I’m only saying that whatever quarrel you two have gotten into is going to hurt you both more than necessary if you let it fester.”

She sucked air through her teeth, swirling some of the drink around in her glass. “Yes, well. I’d be happy to settle things, if I thought I could. Loki is literally the most stubborn person in the universe.”

“I cannot argue with that.” Thor finished the rest of his beer. “What did you argue about?”

Valkyrie sighed and straightened. She plucked one of the colorful food menus from behind the napkin holder and dropped it onto the table. “Suddenly, I’m famished,” she declared. “Hmm. What are  _cheese fries_?”

“Fries with cheese, I imagine.” There were so many different food options on Midgard, some more impressive than others. Thor reached out and closed his hand over hers, lightly. “You’re avoiding the question, Val.”

“That’s because I don’t want to answer it,” Valkyrie replied archly. Her shoulders slumped a bit, and her fingers relaxed under his. “It’s stupid. We were talking about Midgard, how neither of us likes it very much. It’s … just so different from Asgard. Not like Sakaar, you know? Sakaar was garbage, but that’s why I chose it. It never bothered me. Here, though …”

Thor leaned forward a bit. She’d never expressed to him that she disliked Midgard, but now that he thought about it, she never expressed that she  _liked_  it, either.

“I don’t know,” she said with an exhale, after a pause. “Whatever. It is what it is. But we were talking about the other realms, you know, where we might have settled instead. I made some remark about Jotunheim being the last place anyone would willingly go, even a bunch of drifting refugees, and Loki …”

He felt a cold sensation like his heart falling to his knees. Thor closed his eye, letting out a soft breath. “Loki did not react well,” he guessed.

When he opened his eye, Valkyrie’s brow was furrowed. “How did you guess?”

Thor just shook his head.  _Oh, Loki,_ he thought. The confusion on Valkyrie’s face made it clear that Loki had not revealed to her his Jotun origins. Thor took it for granted that it was a well-kept not-secret - Loki had revealed the truth when he’d rewritten his story as Asgard’s savior while wearing Odin’s glamour, but so much had happened so quickly after that. The knowledge became absorbed into the collective subconscious, one of those things that most people were aware of but never talked about. There was no reason to. Loki himself never brought it up, not really, and Thor never thought about it enough to ask.

He regretted that, now. Thor was trying to be better about reading Loki’s moods and trying to uncover what he hid beneath the surface, but he knew he would have a long way to go before he fully understood his brother - if such a thing were even possible.

In the silence that fell over them, their waitress came around and both ordered another round of drinks as well as a plate of cheese fries. When Valkyrie spoke again, it was regretfully, as she fiddled with a napkin, shredding it into long strips. “Anyway, he got very irritated, very quickly. I asked him why he cared so much about the Jotuns, and he would not say, which made me angry. He’s always so damn secretive, you know? I accused him of shutting me out, he accused me of pushing him too much, and … well, we both said stupid things. Now he won’t even  _look_  at me, let alone listen to any apology I might give.”

She dropped the napkin suddenly. “And that makes me angry, too,” she added. “Why should I apologize first? He’s the one who overreacted over nothing. But will he apologize to me? Not before the next apocalypse, I’m sure. Stubborn ass.”

Thor sighed. He could not exactly argue with Valkyrie’s points, but nor could he explain them without betraying Loki’s confidence. “Loki is … he has …” Thor pushed a hand through his hair, frustrated. “If there are things Loki has not told you, then I am sure he has his reasons. I can’t undermine them, but I can say this, Val. He’s a bit sensitive on the topic of the Jotuns” - another understatement - “and he is not without reason to be so. You must talk to him about it, when you’ve both cooled down.”

Valkyrie frowned, fiddling with the napkin between her fingers again. “And if he won’t talk to me?”

“He will,” Thor told her, and offered a small smile. “I don’t always understand my brother, but I can say with certainty that he cares about you a great deal. He’ll not walk away from you. He only needs time.”

She seemed to consider this and then she exhaled. “I hope you’re right,” was all she said, as their new drinks arrived.

Thor hoped he was right, too. Valkyrie was good for Loki, he thought, but he would not be surprised if Loki sabotaged their relationship to avoid the risk of letting it grow.  _Don’t do anything stupid, brother,_ Thor thought, and lifted his beer mug to take a very large swallow.


	8. VIII.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki, post-Ragnarok. Loki realizes the cost of Asgard's destruction. Word count: 1770

  

**VIII.** **  
_Prompt:  _** _Loki dealing with a sense of responsibility for the destruction of Asgard and the initiation of Ragnarok, regardless of it being on Thor's orders._

 

As Asgard erupted into flames, Loki could still feel the blaze of Surtur’s fury on every inch of his skin. Magic still ignited his bones and pulsed through his veins, his body overwhelmed with the power of the rebirth spell which had brought forth their ultimate demise. He’d had seconds - maybe a minute, at the very most - to flee Odin’s vault once Surtur had been called. Now he was leaving fire and ash in his wake as he flew the  _Commodore_  away from the wreckage.

The first explosion rocked the small ship, and Loki’s hands tightened on the controls. There was a roaring in his ears and his stomach felt like it had been turned inside out. He could not even begin to contemplate what was being lost as Asgard fell behind him. Countless homes, the palace, his mother’s beautiful gardens. Loki thought of the halls and hiding places in which he and Thor had run and played, the taverns where they’d had their first drinks, the forests where Thor would drag Loki when he was intent on both a hunt and Loki’s company.  The  _libraries_ , countless books and scrolls. All of it was burning, Asgard in flames, just as Thor had dreamt. Was it truly prophecy, Loki wondered, if it was brought to life by Thor’s own command?

Thor’s command, he reminded himself, but  _Loki’s_  doing. A numbness settled into his core even as he braced himself against the second explosion, the one that shattered Asgard to nothing more than rubble and ash. It took all of his focus to keep the ship steady, maneuvering around the rock and cinder which burst out into the void, tiny pieces of an entire kingdom. Loki spotted the refugee ship making its way in the opposite direction and followed. He wondered if Thor had made it off the planet in time. How fitting it would be if it were finally Loki’s turn to mourn the death of a brother. They were even now, or almost. Loki remembered the awful, aching emptiness of believing Thor dead in the weeks before Thor surfaced as the Grandmaster’s new contender. He felt the beginnings of that same emptiness flickering through him now. Two for two, he thought, and guided the  _Commodore_ onto the roof of the refugee ship.

Thor was probably not dead. Thor was too stubborn to ever die. He would not leave what was left of Asgard without a king. Whether he would have similar reservations about leaving what was left of Loki without a brother was a question Loki could not answer.  
  
* * * 

Loki stayed hidden in the shadows for hours, not knowing where to go or what to do with himself. On the ship, the refugees moved around like ghosts, still in shock over the decimation of Asgard. It was very quiet and there seemed to be so very few people, much fewer than there should have been. Hela’s bloody reign had seen the elimination of the Einherjar, the nobles, much of the warrior class - anyone who had dared stand in opposition of her rule or had been unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle.

Only the lower classes were left, it would seem. Farmers, merchants, nobody Loki would even remotely recognize. Yet there should have been more. Loki-as-Odin was very well aware of how many of Asgard’s people made quiet lives for themselves - they lived in modest homes, made enough money to support their families and little else, rarely if ever ventured anywhere near the palace. These people were the majority of Asgard; the warrior and noble classes were powerful but exclusive, and their economy thrived on the labor of common people who produced goods and kept to themselves.

No one had anticipated Surtur’s destruction. No one. Anyone who had not made it to the BiFrost with Heimdall would have still been in their homes when the world ended. They never would have seen it coming.

The enormity of the realization made Loki feel as if he were going to be sick.

Grief hollowed out his lungs, making it hard to breathe. As he wandered through the survivors, cloaked in invisibility, Loki replayed the scene again and again: Thor’s plea on the bridge, Loki’s haste to the vault, the singe of fire and flame as Surtur rose from the ash. Not once had either one of them stopped to consider upon who exactly they were unleashing an apocalypse. Had Thor realized yet? Loki wondered. His mind itched and it occurred to him that once Thor did realize, it would only naturally follow that he would set the responsibility on Loki’s shoulders.

Perhaps, that was truly where it belonged.  
  
* * * 

When Loki finally sought Thor out, the latter had cleaned up and had seen a healer for his eye. He was in the captain’s quarters, a forgotten tumbler of alcohol loosely held in one hand as he stared at himself in the mirror, fingertips grazing the skin around his new eyepatch. So much like Odin he’d become, Loki thought as he sidled into the room, soundless and soft.

“It suits you,” Loki said, clasping his hands behind his back. To both of them, Loki’s voice was smooth velvet, compassion and reverence slipping into his tone. What Thor did not hear was the deliberate effort Loki took to sound thus, and that his words, while complimentary, were not intended that way at all. With his shorn hair and his eyepatch and the rugged exhaustion that had settled into his features at some point over the last few years, Thor finally looked every inch the warrior king he’d dreamed of being since they were mere boys.

Animosity twisted Loki’s heart as Thor’s youthful proclamations and false bravado rang in his ears. This was where their paths had brought them: Thor to glory on top of Loki’s broken shoulders. A pattern set in stone, repeating itself over and over again.

Thor smiled as he turned. He set his tumbler down, fiddled with the stopper of a decanter. “You know,” he said, “maybe you’re not so bad after all, brother.”

 _Not so bad_ , Loki repeated silently. Thor meant it as a courtesy but to Loki’s ears, it sounded like an insult. He felt the same flow of bitter discontent course through his blood that he’d felt on Midgard after Thor had brushed his ills aside as  _imagined slights_. “High praise, from a king,” Loki returned, just the slightest edge to his voice.

Thor just lifted a shoulder. Looking at him, Loki couldn’t help but wonder if Thor truly realized the enormity of what they had done. Thor looked exhausted, but he did not carry the haunted stiffness in his joints that plagued the rest of the refugees; he did not have the same devastated pallor of those who had lost entirely everything. To look at Thor was to look at one impervious to the weight of loss and Loki thought he resented that most of all.

“Thank you,” Thor said, and Loki blinked in surprise. Thor tossed the decanter stopper, catching it briefly in his palm. “If you were here, I might even give you a hug.” He tossed the stopper again, this time in Loki’s direction. Reflex allowed Loki to lift a hand and snatch the stopper mid-air even, as he did so, realizing that Thor meant it to simply pass through what he assumed was an illusion. How little Thor believed in Loki, how little he thought of him.

Of course Thor would assume that Loki would leave. Of course Thor would look shocked to see that Loki had actually stayed.

“I’m here,” Loki said, his fingers closing around the stopper. “But if you hug me, I swear to the Norns I will slit your throat.”

Thor’s low, rumbling laugh sent a spark down Loki’s spine. The sound seemed to flush the worst of Loki’s agitation away, for it was such a  _comforting_  sound. The dizzying spin of how quickly Loki lurched between adoration and vexation when it came to Thor would one day be Loki’s undoing. He allowed a smile to tug at the corners of his mouth, a smile that was gone again just as quickly. He tossed the stopper back to Thor. They looked at one another across the room, and Loki’s breath hitched in his throat under the weight of Thor’s gaze.

“You do realize, don’t you,” he could not help saying then, “what we’ve done?”

Thor’s mouth flattened into a thin line. He looked away, tossing the stopper from hand to hand. “Do you honestly think I do not?”

“I wondered,” Loki admitted. He let a beat pass. “I don’t think we saved everyone. Only everyone who made it to the bridge.”

The play of emotions that crossed Thor’s face was truly interesting. Confusion swept over his features and then his remaining eye widened, just slightly. The color drained from his face visibly and Loki could see him putting the pieces together, recognizing the implications of what they’d done to those who had not followed Heimdall, those who sought safety in their own homes only to be obliterated at the eleventh hour. He swallowed so hard that Loki watched the Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and then a mask of impassivity shuttered over his face. “Perhaps so,” he said, and Loki was surprised Thor’s voice did not waver. Another skitter went down his spine. “But it is better than saving no one.”

“Is it?” Loki pressed. “We saved a mere handful - and at what cost, Thor? What do we do now?”

“We persevere,” Thor answered. He crossed the room then, moving into Loki’s space. Loki backed up just slightly, wary, but when Thor reached out and cupped Loki’s neck in his palm, Loki found himself leaning into the warm comfort of the touch. Thor, whom he so hated, whom he so loved. They were all each other had left now, he realized. He looked at Thor and saw that his brother knew it, too. “We rebuild. We honor the sacrifice of the dead and we provide a new life for the living.”

Loki swallowed hard. He closed his eyes and, for a very brief moment, wanted to collapse against Thor. He was so tired of standing up under the weight of all that plagued him. He wanted that hug now, suddenly, desperately, but he swallowed again and pushed the urge back. He had not forgiven Thor enough to allow such vulnerability.

“Then,” he said, with some difficulty, “your people need their king.”

“Their prince, as well,” Thor replied.

Loki did not argue.


	9. IX.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki, post-Ragnarok. The Brodinsons get drunk and go to McDonald's. Word count: 2500

  

**IX.** **  
_Prompt:  _**   _Based on a post from the twitter account @wrongbrodinsons: Loki: What would the chef recommend? Waiter: Sir, this is McDonalds. Thor: Please excuse my brother, he’s not familiar with Earth Etiquette. What would the McChef recommend?" (Absolutely need a fan fic with this convo here.)_

 

It is after their fifth bottle of whiskey that Thor’s eyes brighten with the kind of mischief he only adopts when he’s good and inebriated. Loki groans as he sees the look shift swiftly across Thor’s features. “No,” he says simply, taking another swig from his bottle. The whiskey is not bad, but it is not good either. However, most Midgardian liquors do absolutely nothing for either of them, and the few that do have an effect must be consumed in copious amounts.

It is one of the things Loki misses about Asgard, how sweet wine and mead would flow steadily at feasts and meals or in the taverns deep into the night. He misses the days when he and Thor would share ale over a fire, talking of the day’s exploits and laughing in sync. Once, life had been simple, if not necessarily good.

“What,” Thor says, raising an eyebrow at Loki. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I know that look,” Loki points out with a roll of his eyes. He and Thor, in a rare mood that had struck them both after the evening meal, have settled themselves on the back porch of their apartment, their alcohol on a small table between their two chairs. The chairs are something called _lounge chairs_ , which allow them to lean back and stretch their legs out comfortably. It was an undignified way to sit, to be sure, but Loki has to admit that he enjoys the laziness of it, especially as he feels himself grow more intoxicated.

Thor plays innocent. He takes a long swig, finishing off the bottle he’d been nursing for awhile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Loki. I was just thinking we should get something to eat.”

“We just ate the evening meal about two hours ago,” Loki points out.

“Yes, but drinking always makes me hungry. You know this,” Thor returns. “Anyway, haven’t you ever heard of a midnight snack?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “No, Thor. As a matter of fact, I have not heard of a midnight snack. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Thor gives his deep, rumbling laugh, which lasts just a moment too long. At this rate, Loki thinks wryly as he brings his bottle back to his lips, he will be pouring Thor into bed within the hour. Loki himself has been going much more slowly, allowing the warmth of the whiskey to work through him slowly and steadily. He is not sober, but nor is he as drunk as Thor. It’s a safe place to be.

“A midnight snack,” Thor explains, sitting up a bit and fixing Loki with an earnest stare, as if he is about to provide him with the answers to the universe, “is a snack … which is eaten at or close to midnight.”

Loki waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, Loki cannot help his own laughter.  _Thor is such a dope,_  he thinks fondly. Loki may be more drunk than he’d realized, because it suddenly seems very funny instead of irritating. “You might have to write that one down for me, brother,” is all he says. “I might not remember your detailed and thorough explanation, otherwise.”

“True enough,” Thor agrees, with another laugh. He picks up a new bottle of whiskey, uncapping it easily as he settles back into his chair. “So, what say you, brother? Do you want to go on an  _adventure?_ ” He gives a grin and wiggles his eyebrows a bit.

“Hmm. I rather think I’ve had enough adventure to last awhile.” Loki extends the bottle in his hand, swirling it around to determine how much is left. A fair amount, but less than he expected. “Don’t you?”

“Never,” Thor answers earnestly. “As long as I have a heart that beats, it will beat in tune to the battle cry of Asgard, it will echo glory and honor to Valhalla itself, it will -”

“Norns, I’m sorry I asked,” Loki cuts him off. “I used to hate that, you know,” he adds. He feels languid, lethargic, and the words slip from his tongue before he realizes he’d been thinking them. Once they are out, it is too late to swallow them back down again. He sips his whiskey, avoiding Thor’s gaze.

“Hate what?”

Loki waves a hand. “Your … unquenchable thirst for battle,” he elaborates. “I never understood why anyone would willingly seek out battle. Defending yourself is one thing, but …” He trails off, lifts his shoulders. “You never lost that, you know? That battle-lust. You were taken down a few pegs, to be sure, but you seek battle as ferociously as you ever have.” Loki grins, despite himself. “You’re just not so irritating about it anymore.”

Thor tilts his head, his eye flicking over Loki. He does not look displeased with the assessment, but for a long while, he does not say anything, either. Finally, after a particularly large swallow of whiskey, he says, “I think that’s the most you’ve really said to me at one time in … quite a long time.”

“I speak to you all the time,” Loki reminds him.

“No, you don’t.” Thor adjusts himself slightly, crossing one ankle over the other. “You  _respond_  to me. You offer your opinion, warranted or not. Occasionally you make a joke. But you don’t speak to me about how you feel. You don’t speak to me about our lives before … well, everything. You don’t even mention Asgard anymore, though the wound must still be as fresh for you as it is for me.”

Loki does not speak of Asgard because speaking about it will not bring it back. He feels a slight twitch in his chest, where his heart lies. Indeed, the wound is fresh, but that is one of the many differences between himself and Thor. Loki nurses his wounds privately, bandaging them up with silence and repression, while Thor lets his bleed for everyone to see. “It would serve little purpose to speak of,” Loki answers, resting his head against the back of his chair. His face feels warm, which is one of the tell-tale signs that he is growing less sober.

“Perhaps,” Thor agrees, to Loki’s surprise. “But I wish you would try more often.”

A silence falls over them, weighted with all of the things they have not said. Loki takes a very long swallow of his drink, finishing off the rest of the bottle in one sip. He is sorry he said anything, sorry that his words punctured the relative peace that they’d had before. “Okay,” he says, setting his bottle down a bit too hard on the table. “Let’s go on an adventure.”

“What?” Thor blinks.

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Loki tells him, sitting up. His head spins. He was going to be feeling this tomorrow. “Come on, before it changes again.”

At once, Thor’s face splits into his wide, brilliant smile. Norns, but Loki  _loves_ that stupid smile. He is inebriated enough to admit to himself, but still sensible enough not to speak it aloud. Thor does not need any more reason to be arrogant. “Rhodey told me of a restaurant,” Thor says as he stands and offers Loki his hand. Loki grasps it, and Thor pulls him up, and they both stumble a bit.

“You big oaf,” Loki grumbles, righting himself.

“Rhodey told me of a restaurant,” Thor continues, as if Loki had not spoken, “where one might find a spectacular midnight snack. I believe he said it’s called McDonalds.”

“All right,” Loki says, weaving carefully around Thor to the patio door. “Is it far?”

“Only a few blocks. Now, brother,” Thor begins, setting his expression very straight, “this is an adventure, a quest, which we cannot fail. It must be treated with the utmost care and precision.”

“I didn’t know you knew the definition of those words.”

“Shut up. We must move quietly, stealthily, lest the others see what we are doing.”

“Thor,” Loki says, growing more amused by the moment, “no one else is  _here_.”

“That we know of,” Thor retorts. He gives Loki a little nudge and Loki rolls his eyes, but he carefully opens the patio door and slips inside. The apartment is dim, but not dark. Thor, practically on Loki’s heels, keeps whispering, “Shhh!”

“I didn’t  _say_  anything,” Loki retorts, and stumbles over one of Thor’s discarded boots. “Shit. Thor, how many times -”

Thor clamps his hand over Loki’s mouth, giving him a frown of disapproval. Loki wants to snicker, but refrains. He has forgotten how truly silly Thor can be, when the mood strikes just right. When Thor removes his hand, Loki speaks again, in an exaggerated whisper.

“How many times have I told you not to leave your damn boots around?”

“I don’t remember.” Thor leans over and scoops up the boot, shoving it on before searching for its mate. Loki waits patiently for him. He cannot help a snicker when Thor steps too widely and loses his balance, collapsing onto the sofa.

“What were you saying about stealth, brother?”

Thor shoots Loki a glare, but it does not hold more than a few seconds before his own face collapses into amusement. When he finally finishes putting on his boots, they waste another few minutes searching for their keys, wallets, all manner of trinkets that one must carry everywhere with him on Midgard. Once they have thoroughly prepared for their adventure, they set off into the cool evening, Thor banging the door closed rather loudly behind them.

“You never were very good at sneaking around,” Loki remarks. He wobbles a bit as they begin walking, and Thor must notice, for he reaches out and grips Loki’s arm. Loki responds by gripping Thor back, until they are clinging to one another as if they are mere boys. “Do you remember when we’d sneak into the kitchen after evening meal for pastries?”

“Oh, yes!” Thor seems to have completely forgotten stealth; his voice booms around them, deep and warm. It sends a reverberating shiver weaving through Loki’s ribs. Neither of them are walking in a particularly straight line, Loki notices with amusement. All of this is so  _terribly_ funny. “We got caught more times than not, I believe.”

“Yes, because you were utterly incapable of stealth,” Loki reminds him. “You’d crash about, pretend we were sword-ing through dragons and beasts -” He cuts himself off and starts laughing. “Oh my, did you hear me lose that verb? Sword  _fighting,_  I meant to say.”

“Yes, hold on.” Thor lets go of Loki enough to bend over, pretending to fumble around on the ground. He comes back up a moment later, victory in his grin. He extends a hand to Loki. “I believe you dropped your verb, good sir.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Loki says, plucking the empty air from Thor’s palm and making a show of tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll just leave that there, in case I need it later. Thank you kindly, my friend.”

“That is what heroes do,” Thor answers with an exaggerated swagger, which throws both of them off balance. It sets Loki off again, and when Thor laughs with him, his eye twinkles with more than just inebriation. It is happiness, Loki realizes.

By the time they get to the restaurant, neither of them are taking anything seriously. Which is likely a good thing, because Loki is immediately appalled upon entering the brightly-lit building. “Now, Loki,” Thor says seriously as, for some bizarre reason, they approach the counter. It is relatively empty, but the servants on the opposite side of the counter are looking at Thor and Loki warily. “This is not a usual restaurant. We must order and pay first, and then choose our own table.”

Loki looks at him as if he has lost his mind. It is entirely possible that he has. Still, Thor strides forward confidently, leaving Loki no choice but to follow.

“Welcome to McDonald’s,” says the boy behind the counter, his gaze flicking from Loki to Thor and back again. He is practically a child, Loki thinks. “What can I get for you?”

“I don’t know,” Loki answers, glancing at Thor. What kind of place has Thor brought them to? It seems utterly ludicrous. “What does the chef recommend?”

The child blinks. “Um, sir, this - this is McDonald’s,” he responds, as if Loki had not heard him say that very thing just a moment ago. Loki should be very irritated, but instead, he hides a smile behind his hand.

“Please, excuse my brother,” Thor speaks up. “He isn’t used to proper Earth etiquette.” The child’s brow furrows, but Thor goes on, in a very straight voice, “What would the McChef of McDonald’s recommend?”

Loki breaks up, turning his head and pressing it into Thor’s shoulder as he snickers.

“Uh.” The child sounds as if he is already sick of them. “A lot of people like the Big Mac.”

“We’ll have that, then.”

The rest of the transaction goes by, with Loki trying unsuccessfully to stop laughing while Thor takes great care with his words and movements. When they are finished at the counter, they weave around tables and find a booth near the back, where Loki collapses and lets out a breath. “I don’t know why this is so funny,” he admits to Thor, rubbing his eyes. “But the  _look_  on that boy’s face -”

Thor is grinning, sliding into the seat opposite Loki. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen you have so much fun,” he admits, and picks up a potato stick. “I miss it.”

“Do not get maudlin, Thor,” Loki warns, poking uncertainly at his meal. “Norns, what is this? It looks absolutely revolting.”

“This is the finest cuisine Midgard has to offer,” Thor responds cheerfully. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“All the more reason to flee this wretched realm,” Loki replies. “Will you remind me why we chose this place?”

“Because,” Thor says grandly, “I am king, and I am an Avenger, and thus I am needed here. Where else might we go? Can I really risk our people to the dwarves of Nidavellir? The trickery of the Vanir? The humans are relatively harmless to our people and, thus, we may co-exist for awhile. The Avengers, as well, will always need another pair of - oh, brother, might I borrow that verb?”

Loki rolls his eyes, stubborn smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He exaggerates reaching into his pocket and then extending his palm to Thor. “It is all yours,” he says.

Thor very carefully pantomimes picking up the verb from Loki’s palm. “Thank you kindly. The Avengers will always need another pair of  _fighting_  hands. Therefore, this is the correct place to be.”

“I suppose I defer to your wisdom, then, my king,” Loki returns magnanimously. He pokes at his food again. “But the food is still disgusting.”


	10. X.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Tony Stark, post-Infinity War. Tony and Loki drink together. Word count: 1970

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though this is post-IW, Loki is alive because I say he is.

  

**X.** **  
_Prompt:  _**   _Loki finally accepting that drink from Tony Stark after they've arrived on earth and they end up getting drunk together._

 

They celebrated.

The war against Thanos had persisted for two long years. The lives lost were in the millions. The battles began on Midgard, with Wakanda, but Midgard was such a little world and Thanos’s grip extended far beyond. The Avengers went where the war took them. They stopped being surprised by that which was alien to them. They stopped being surprised when they lost comrades. They stopped grieving, for it became a process without end. They learned it was easier not to engage in the first place.

Mostly, they were tired.

When Thanos was defeated and those lost to the Soul Realm were revived, they went back to the Avengers Compound in New York, and they ate, and they slept, and then they celebrated.

Loki was as much a part of the group as he was ever going to be. After everything Thanos had wrought, Loki’s crimes in New York seemed miniscule. It was not that they no longer mattered - just that it was easier to overlook. Thanos’s influence on Loki’s mind, the sacrifice he’d made at the beginning of the war, and the hell he and Thor had gone through to get him back so that they could fight side by side weighed at least as much.

Nobody went out of their way to befriend Loki, but nobody alienated him, either. There were worse places to be among a group, Loki thought. Thor was the only one Loki cared about, anyway.

Tony Stark had initiated the victory celebrations. He tended to be the one to take the lead in such matters. Loki would just as soon have preferred to stay in his and Thor’s temporary quarters in the compound, but Thor roused him from the couch, shoved him into the shower, combed his hair, made him dress appropriately for a Midgardian celebration. “Can I not simply stay behind?” Loki asked, for the tenth time, as he finished buttoning his dark shirt. “I very much doubt I will be missed.”

“I will miss you,” Thor countered. He was already dressed and ready to go. Even after two years, Loki had not gotten used to Thor’s mismatched eyes. He almost preferred the patch. “It does not do you well to sit about and sulk everyday,” Thor went on. “We have much to be thankful for.”

“So you keep saying.” Loki stared at himself in the mirror. “Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

Behind him, Thor met his gaze in the glass. A shadow crossed his face, and he sighed. He moved in closer and very briefly dropped his head to Loki’s shoulder. “Maybe,” he agreed, so softly Loki almost didn’t hear it.

* * * 

“Hey, Reindeer Games!” Tony Stark’s voice was the only warning Loki had before a hand came down and clapped his shoulder. Loki frowned as Tony circled around, still with his hand on Loki’s shoulder. In his other hand, he held up a tumbler, which was filled with amber liquid. “Have you had a drink yet?”

“No, thank you.” Loki shrugged Tony’s hand off. He did not much care for Midgardian drinks - they did not taste good enough to make up for the lack of effect they had on Asgardians. “I tend to find that your liquors are a bit too weak for my constitution.”

“Oh, but you haven’t tried my specialty,” Tony replied, unfazed. He jerked his head slightly. “Come on, follow me. You’re gonna like this.”

Loki sighed, but Tony had already started walking away, leaving Loki little choice but to follow. He supposed he didn’t have anything better to do. Thor had been swept up almost immediately upon their arrival - everyone wanted to speak to him, it seemed, and some things truly never changed, for Thor enjoyed being the center of attention as much as he always had.  

Tony led them to the bar, where three or four servants in matching black and white uniforms were mixing and serving drinks. Tony gave the servants a warm greeting, but instead of asking them for anything, he moved around them toward the back of the bar, gesturing for Loki to follow. “Now, this,” he said, picking up a crystal decanter from the highest shelf, “is one of the best brands of scotch Earth has to offer. Smooth as heaven and just as delicious. It’s also an incredibly rare scotch. There were only five hundred bottles produced in the world.”

Loki lifted an eyebrow at this. “If it is such a good scotch,” he said, “wouldn’t its vendors wish to make more profit than only five hundred bottles would provide?”

“Not in this case.” Tony poured the scotch into two tumblers, filling one of them significantly more than the other. He handed the fuller tumbler to Loki. “It’s a status thing. For most rich bastards, anyway. Guarantee you those five hundred bottles will sit on shelves until the next apocalypse. Me, I just like the stuff. Cheers.” He held up his glass and, as Loki had learned was the Midgardian custom, they clinked glasses before taking a sip.

Tony was right in this at least: it was the best Midgardian liquor Loki had ever tasted. Loki took a large swallow; there was a sharp aftertaste that made him cough, but it was not unpleasant. Tony was looking at him expectantly and Loki had to nod. “It’s quite exquisite,” he agreed, taking another sip.

“Quite exquisite,” Tony echoed, and laughed. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Reindeer Games.”

“Mm.” Loki glanced at Tony, considering, before he decided. A bit of magic never hurt anybody. “Would you like to see a trick?” he asked casually, finishing the scotch in his tumbler.

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Sure,” he agreed. “As long as it’s not a supervillain type of trick.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “I thought we had moved past that little quarrel.”

“Little quarrel, right.” Tony laughed again, as if Loki genuinely amused him. “Anyway, let’s see this trick. I hear you’re the best, after all. Better than Strange, even.”

“The Midgardian wizard is a novice and a braggart,” Loki answered, insulted at the comparison. Their paths had not crossed much during the war, a fact for which Loki was glad. The other witch, Wanda, was at least a very powerful being, but her magic had been given to her. She had not truly earned it, crafted it, built it up from scratch as Loki had done. But she was tolerable; at least, Loki did not find her existence as offensive as he did Strange’s. “Of course I am better.”

Of course, this particular trick was so miniscule, Strange could probably do it as well. Loki decided not to dwell on that. He focused on his and Tony’s glasses, instead, and with a near imperceptible flick of his wrist, both glasses refilled themselves with the expensive scotch. Tony’s eyes widened, and he let out a guffaw. “Now that is a party trick I can get behind,” he said, clapping Loki on the shoulder again. “Brilliant, just brilliant. I think I’ll keep you around.”

The only logical response to that was to return the gesture, so Loki clapped Tony on the shoulder, not bothering to soften it. When Tony went stumbling forward and nearly fell on his face, Loki merely hid his smile behind another sip of scotch.

Hours passed. Tony was not bad company, Loki decided, although that particular conclusion might not have been reached without the aid of scotch. They ended up on a sofa in the living room, trading the decanter back and forth. Loki had refilled it a few times, but he had to remind himself that a human’s constitution was much weaker than his own, and that too much alcohol could make one deathly ill. Such fragile creatures. Loki could not imagine a less honorable death than having had too much drink.

At any rate, Loki was feeling what Tony called “buzzed,” meaning that he had passed sober long ago, but had not yet gotten to full inebriation. Tony was well past inebriation and had begun slurring his words. The fifth time he called himself “I’rn Pershon,” Loki began refilling his glass with water. Tony didn’t seem to mind.

“So, you’re like … what, a thousand years old?” Tony asked, gesturing with his glass. “How do you stand it?”

“Stand what?”

“Living that long. Knowing that you have centuries ahead of you. I’ll tell you this, Reindeer Games, you aren’t exactly what the locals would call a well-adjusted person. Neither am I. I think we both know that life gives out more than we can take.”

“And how,” Loki murmured, bringing his glass to his lips. He still did not know what point Tony was trying to make, but he let the other man babble.

“Me, I’ve been around almost fifty years. That must seem like nothing to you.”

“It is a miniscule number of years, yes,” Loki agreed. “If you were Asgardian, you would be the equivalent of an infant. Which explains a lot about you, actually.”

Tony rolled his eyes, the jab rolling right off his back. “My point is, fifty years and I am exhausted.  _Exhausted._  The last decade or so’s been the worst, yeah, but even before the world went insane with aliens and Titans and space gems, my life wasn’t exactly a party. I mean, it  _was_ a party, but not a good party, you know? Like, the kind of party where you show up late and you’re already drunk and you think you’re having a great time, but then three a.m. rolls around, suddenly you’ve lost your pants and your head’s in a toilet bowl and pictures are already up on Instagram and the only thing that would make you feel better is mac and cheese, but there are no more boxes and all the stores are closed. That kind of party.”

Loki took a long, drawn out sip of his drink. He didn’t understand half of the nonsense Tony had just sprouted, but he got the general idea. “You were unhappy,” he clarified, “and trying not to be. You were going through the motions expected of you, and all the while you felt like crawling out of your own skin. Nobody noticed or cared how you felt, though, so you had to put on a smile and put one foot in front of the other. Yes?”

“Yes, exactly. You get me, Reindeer Games, you really do. That’s exactly how it felt. So here’s my question: if I’m exhausted after fifty years of living this way, how in the actual goddamn hell have you managed for  _a thousand_?”

“Well.” Loki considered. “I did go mad for awhile.”

“Yeah, the whole world remembers,” Tony returned dryly. “But, to be fair, you were only banana balls for, like, three years. That’s nine hundred and ninety seven during which I assume you were normal.”

“Yes, but time flows differently for me,” Loki said. “A thousand years seems incomprehensible to you because you have no frame of reference. A year is a long stretch of time for you; for me, it is a blink of a second. A hundred years is a heartbeat. What has been fifty exhausting years for you would be the space of a winter’s night for me - cold and lonely, to be sure, but morning comes soon.”

“God, even wasted, you talk like Shakespeare,” Tony said, and laughed. “I get it, though. I think I do, anyway.” He gave Loki a long, measuring look. “You’re all right, you know?”

It was as close to a compliment that any of the Midgardians had given him, and Loki couldn’t help the flicker of surprise that went through him. He smiled a little, just the barest tilt of his lips. “So are you,” he admitted.

They sat in silence for awhile.


	11. XI.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorki, Human AU. Thor confronts Loki about his developing eating disorder. Word count: 3945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW anorexia, eating disordered behaviors.

 

**XI.  
_Prompt: _** _Loki being confronted about an eating disorder he may or may not have / Older Thor realizing Younger Loki has anorexia._

 

It was November before Thor realized that something was terribly wrong. As the days got shorter and colder, Loki seemed to run farther and farther. He’d picked up the hobby toward the middle of September, claiming it helped him to relax, but by the time Thor noticed that Loki was dropping weight faster than he should have been, Loki was already clocking fifteen miles a night. Loki did not tell him this. One evening, while Loki was out, Thor was using Loki’s laptop (he couldn’t find the charger for his own) and a notification popped up for Loki’s new Fitbit.  _New record!_ it boasted.  _15.73 miles!_

Thor did a double-take. A few moments later Loki, sweaty and panting, slammed through the front door. “I was so close,” he said, more to himself than to Thor. He was examining his Fitbit, scowling at it as if it had offended him in some way. “Couldn’t make that last mile.”

“Loki -” Thor began, but Loki ignored him, heading straight for the bathroom and closing himself inside. A minute later, Thor heard the shower turn on.

Thor clicked on the Fitbit notification and it brought up the app, which gave a record of Loki’s runs for the past eight days. He’d hit thirteen, and then fifteen, just that week. Loki was trying to hit sixteen now, it would seem, and then eighteen, and then twenty.

In the grand scheme of things, fifteen miles for an athlete or a runner was not generally cause for concern. What concerned Thor was that Loki had never been either a runner nor a particularly dedicated athlete. Thor was the one who found solace in exercise and often ran the college track or lifted weights at the gym. Loki was more introverted and quiet. He’d blow off steam by listening to music, or spending hours working on a drawing, or sometimes blowing things up in one of his video games.

So the fact that Loki had gone from barely being able to keep up with Thor when they walked to class to running more than a half marathon a  _night_ , in the span of six weeks or so?  _That_  was cause for alarm.

Thor set aside the laptop and went over to the bathroom. He knocked lightly. “Loki,” he called, “are you all right?”

“Fine,” came Loki’s clipped reply.

“Are you sure? You looked upset when you came in.”

“What, like you don’t get upset when you can’t meet a goal?” Thor heard shuffling on the other side of the door, as if Loki was getting undressed. “It’s nothing, Thor.”

“But -”

“God!” Loki’s patience was thin, it seemed, and Thor’s questions had already frayed it to breaking. “Can I get some fucking privacy, please?”

Thor sighed, dropping his forehead against the door for just a moment. “Fine,” he said, and straightened again. “I’m gonna order Chinese for dinner. Want anything in particular?”

“Just get me whatever, I don’t care.” Thor heard the shower curtain being yanked aside, and then Loki’s radio flipped on, drowning out anything else Thor might have said.  
  
***  
  
They had been living in an apartment off-campus since the end of August. It was Loki’s first year in college, and Thor’s third, and their parents had agreed to pay the rent if Thor and Loki assumed responsibility for groceries, utilities, and whatever else they needed on a daily basis. It meant that they both had to get jobs - Thor lifeguarded and taught swimming classes at the YMCA, and Loki worked in the campus library - but it was worth it. Thor was glad to leave the dorms behind, and glad to be back with Loki, who’d trudged and sulked his way through his last two years of high school.

Thor and Loki had always been much closer than brothers should be. They stuck together like glue, told each other everything, and were physical with one another to the point that they’d been mistaken for a couple more than once when they were out and about. Loki did not make friends easily, so he joined Thor’s group, but when Thor and his friends graduated and moved on to college, Loki had floundered, left behind.

Thor could have stayed at home. Thor  _wanted_  to stay at home. They lived only half an hour from the local university. But Fandral had talked Thor into rooming together, and their parents thought that the distance would do Thor and Loki some good. Loki needed to come out of his shell, make friends his own age, maybe start dating. Or so their father said.

For the first two months that Thor had been away, Loki had called him every night. At first, Thor was eager for Loki’s calls and they would talk for a good hour or so before their father made Loki hang up the phone. Several times a week, Loki went to visit Thor in the dorms; they’d get dinner or coffee together, do their homework, watch TV. Loki would stretch his legs out and rest them across Thor’s knees; their fingers would sometimes brush and Thor would feel a warm electricity pulse through him.

The physical attraction was a secret buried beneath secrets, a thing that neither of them dared speak of. Yet they were both aware of it, thrumming just beneath the surface. It could never, ever be acted upon. They knew it was wrong. They just didn’t know how to make it stop.

So, they did their best to ignore it, even while remaining the best of friends. But eventually, Thor’s mother gently told him that he needed to let Loki figure out who he was outside of Thor’s shadow. She’d used the word  _codependent_ , which Thor had to look up.  _A dysfunctional relationship where one person enables another person’s poor mental health or irresponsibility, the internet had explained._

 _Loki and I are not codependent,_ Thor had argued.

 _Thor, you know as well as I do that Loki relies on you far more than is healthy,_  his mother had chided.  _Give him some space. You could do with space yourself. Enjoy college, and let Loki enjoy what’s left of high school._

Thor had little choice but to obey. He still remembered the ache in his chest when he let more and more of Loki’s calls go to voicemail - it was for Loki’s own good, he told himself.

Eventually, Loki stopped calling, and Thor had allowed himself to get swept up in college life. He went to parties, he experimented with his alcohol tolerance, he dated a physics major named Jane for three months.

Loki, meanwhile, breezed through his academics but grew more and more sullen and withdrawn socially. He took a girl named Sigyn to his junior homecoming and Thor had tried to be happy for him, despite the jealousy that took hold somewhere in his core. At Christmas that year, Loki had scowled a lot and picked fights with Thor, who irritated easily. They sniped and argued and even came to blows at one point.

Their parents thought that Thor encouraged Loki’s reclusiveness too much, and that Loki was incapable of standing on his own without Thor. They sent Loki to a counselor to help with his “self-esteem issues.” They suggested Thor see a counselor on campus, too, to learn how to “be his own person.”

The entire thing was bullshit.

They played along, though.

They texted constantly, and simply didn’t tell their parents. They went to counseling. They learned how to be less outwardly  _codependent._

By the time Loki graduated and they approached their parents about living together, their parents were satisfied that they had each grown into healthy, individual people outside of their friendship as brothers.

Thor thought that, with the apartment and with Loki with him in college, they would go back to how they’d always been. For awhile, they had. Then Loki started withdrawing again. He spent a lot of time holed up in the campus library, working ahead in his syllabi, devouring coffee and textbooks and little else. He turned down Thor’s invitations for pizza, or to meet their friends at the student union for trivia night. He began exercising and wearing loose, shapeless clothing.

There was a darkness inside of Loki, Thor was realizing, where Loki liked to retreat when life got too hard. He would get lost in there, if he let himself.

Thor had no intention of letting that happen.

***

When Loki came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, Thor stared openly. Loki had always been slim, but now he looked  _skinny_ , his ribs and hip bones jutting out sharply. “Wow, Loki,” Thor said, while Loki pulled the towel more tightly around himself, “how much weight have you lost?”

“None of your business.” Loki hunched his shoulders and turned to go down the hallway toward his bedroom. Thor followed, leaning against the doorjamb as Loki rifled through his dresser.

“It is my business,” Thor said, folding his arms. “You look sick. Are you sick?”

“No. What’s wrong with wanting to get into shape?” Loki asked. He managed to pull on a pair of boxers underneath the towel, without letting it go. A pair of sweatpants followed, and only then did Loki let the towel drop. The sweatpants hung even more loosely on his hips than the towel had.

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Thor responded, watching as Loki tugged on a worn, olive-green t-shirt. “You just … you don’t look like you’re getting into shape.”

“Oh,” Loki nodded, pulling out a pair of thick gym socks, “so I’m fat now?”

“What?” Thor blinked, taken aback. “No. Jesus. You’re too  _skinny._  You have, like, no muscle at all. When people get into shape, they generally  _build_ muscle, not lose it.”

“Did you ever stop to think that not everyone is built like a Mack truck?” Loki yanked one sock on. Even his feet looked bony. “Just because I can’t lift a thousand pounds at the gym doesn’t mean I’m not getting into shape.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Thor rubbed a hand over his face. This wasn’t going the way he wanted at all. “Loki, I’m just worried about you. I saw your Fitbit thing come up on the computer. Are you really running fifteen miles every night?”

“Why were you using my computer?” Loki demanded. “Can’t I have anything to myself?”

This was getting them nowhere, and Thor’s patience was running thin. He lifted his hands and watched as Loki hopped on one foot to pull on his other sock. “Why are you always so fucking  _touchy?_ ” Thor demanded. “God. Sorry I said anything. God forbid I give a shit about you.”

“Since when,” Loki muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Before Thor could respond, the doorbell rang. The Chinese food. Thor pushed away from the doorjamb and scowled at Loki. “Dinner’s ready,” he said simply. “Come on.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t care. You’re eating.” Thor lifted his chin and then turned on his heel, leaving Loki muttering under his breath.

***

Over the next few weeks, Loki grew more and more testy with Thor’s probing questions. Thor had to admit that Loki knew which buttons to press to get Thor off his back - a snarky remark here or an insult there, and Thor was too distracted with his own irritation or frustration to continue grilling Loki. It would only be later, when Loki headed out for another run, or Thor noticed the way that Loki’s clothes were practically falling off of him, that he remembered that something was wrong and that he needed to not let Loki get under his skin before Thor found out exactly what it was.

They went home for Thanksgiving, both of them sitting quietly in the car while they listened to the radio. Loki looked exhausted; he had dark shadows beneath his eyes and his cheekbones were beginning to develop prominence. He rested his head against the window for the entire drive.

Once, Thor reached over and dared to lay his palm on Loki’s thigh. It felt solid and warm beneath Thor’s fingers and, despite himself, he felt his heart skip a beat. “Loki,” Thor murmured.

Loki glanced over at him, raising one eyebrow.

Thor’s throat suddenly felt dry. He swallowed. “Let’s not fight today,” was all he managed to say.

For a moment, Loki looked surprised. Then he drew his eyebrows together and, finally, he nodded. He laid his hand on top of Thor’s, and Thor felt a bundle of nerves skitter down his spine.

They stayed like that for the rest of the drive.

***

Their mother noticed that something was wrong right away. Even though the university was close and the apartment closer, Thor and Loki hadn’t made it home in several weeks, so Loki’s weight loss was even more shocking to them. When their mother wrapped Loki in her arms, her eyebrows went up in alarm.

“My goodness,” she said, drawing back, gripping Loki at his elbows. “Loki, what happened?”

“What do you mean?” Loki squirmed under her gaze, trying to pull out of her grasp.

“You look like … what are those bugs called?” Their father, who’d just come into the room, stroked his white beard while he looked Loki up and down. He snapped his fingers, the name suddenly coming to him. “Like a praying mantis.”

“Well, Jesus.  _Thanks,_  Dad,” Loki snapped, finally getting out of his mother’s grip.

“How are those classes on tact going?” Thor asked, and his father laughed, giving Thor’s shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Now, this one,” their father said, looking pointedly at Loki, “looks great. Not like a praying mantis at all.”

“Oh, Odin, honestly.” Their mother rolled her eyes and then, noticing Loki’s crestfallen expression, put her arm around his spindly shoulders. “Stop comparing the boys.”

“No, Mom, it’s okay.” Loki’s smile was strange, too tight around the corners. “Dad’s never made it a secret how much better Thor is than I am. Wouldn’t want him to start now.”

Their father rolled his eyes. “God forbid I ever make a joke,” he said, and then tilted his head in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll be slaving over the hot stove if anyone needs me.”

After he was gone, their mother looped her arm around Loki’s waist. “Sweetheart,” she said, “your father doesn’t mean anything, you know that. It’s just that you’ve lost a lot of weight since we saw you last. Are you getting enough to eat? If you need some money, you know all you have to do is ask.”

She shot Thor a disapproving look. Even though groceries were part of their responsibility, their parents had made it clear, many times, that in a desperate situation, they were happy to help. Under the weight of her glare, Thor felt defensive.

“We don’t need money,” Thor said. “We have plenty to eat. Loki just _won’t_  eat, Mom.”

“What do you mean, he won’t eat?”

“I mean,  _he won’t eat._  He turns down food all the time. We went grocery shopping over a week ago and more than half of it is still there. He says he’s trying to get into shape.”

“What shape would that be, exactly?” their mother asked.

“I’m standing right here, you know,” Loki interjected. He scowled at Thor, and then at their mother. “Thor’s exaggerating, Mom. I eat. I started exercising, you know, to help with stress and stuff. That counselor you sent me to recommended it, and I decided it was a good idea. That’s all.”

Their mother looked unconvinced, but just then, there was a crash in the kitchen, followed by their father’s loud, “Goddamn it!”

“We’re not done talking about this,” their mother said, and then let go of Loki so that she could hurry into the kitchen.

Alone, Loki hissed, “Stop talking about me like I’m not right here. Stop telling her lies. The last thing I need is Mom and Dad all over my back.”

“I’m not lying, and you know it.” Thor glared back at Loki.

“Whatever, Thor. Just stay out of my damn business.” With a parting scowl, Loki stalked off in the direction of the living room, leaving Thor to sighs and rub his eyes tiredly.  

***

Thor watched Loki like a hawk at dinner, but it only seemed to make Loki nervous and therefore eat  _less_ , so eventually, Thor forced himself to look away. He spoke enough for both of them, answering his parents’ questions about school and listening to his parents’ chatter about work, laughing at all the right places, making a wisecrack or two where Loki normally would have, but didn’t. By the time the meal was over, Loki had rearranged most of his meal, cutting the food into tiny pieces and shoving them around, so as to look like he’d eaten more than he really had. He covered the rest up with a linen napkin and offered to take the plates to the kitchen and then, as he and Thor set about doing the dishes and cleaning up, he steadily avoided Thor’s gaze and put his earbuds in to block out anything Thor might say.

After everything was cleaned up and their mother had put her pies in the oven to bake, Loki disappeared. Thor and his father went into the living room to watch a football game, throughout which Thor began a group text with Fandral and Sif. They traded anecdotes about their families and the holiday, commenting and joking, until Thor expressed his worry about Loki.

 _Oh, leave him alone,_ Sif wrote, along with an eye-rolling emoji.  _He just wants attention. Loki’s too dramatic for his own good._

 _Are you blind?_ Thor responded.  _He looks like a twig these days. What if he has some kind of eating disorder?_

Sif sent back a shrugging emoji.

 _Guys don’t get eating disorders,_ was Fandral’s contribution.

His friends were no help.

When the pies were ready, his parents brought their slices to the living room to eat in front of the TV, while Thor carried slices for himself and for Loki upstairs. Loki’s old room was empty, but the door to Thor’s was ajar. There, Thor found Loki laying down on the floor with the lights off. His eyes were closed, the faint hum of music drifting from his earbuds.

Thor’s room was mostly the same as he’d left it, just emptier. Along one wall, there were a few cardboard boxes labeled  _Christmas Decorations_  stacked for easy access as the holiday season neared. Thor nudged the door open the rest of the way with his foot and, ignoring the way Loki opened one eye and then scowled, made his way into the room. He sat down on the floor near Loki’s head and reached down, yanking one of the earbuds from Loki’s ear.

“Excuse you,” said Loki.

Thor ignored him, holding up one of the plates. “I brought you pie,” he replied.

“I don’t want any pie,” Loki said, closing his eyes again. “Do you know how many calories is in one slice?”

“No, Loki,” Thor said, his irritation flaring briefly. “I have no idea how many calories is in one slice. Who cares? It’s  _Thanksgiving._  Come on.”

Loki sighed. He accepted the plate from Thor, only to set it down on the floor beside him without giving it a second glance. Then, to Thor’s surprise (but not displeasure), he adjusted himself so that he could rest his head on Thor’s outstretched thighs. The light that spilled in from the hallway cast his face in strange shadows, making his cheekbones appear sharper than they were.

Thor’s heart drummed in his ears.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked quietly. His own appetite suddenly gone, he reached over to set his plate on the nightstand beside his old bed.

“Laying here? ‘Cause you’re comfortable,” Loki replied.

“Not … not that. This.” Thor gestured at the ignored plate of pie. “Starving yourself. Running twenty miles a day. Losing weight. You have to know it’s not healthy, Loki.”

Loki sighed. He closed his eyes and, for a moment, Thor thought that his words would go ignored. Then, Loki reached for his phone, flipping off the music that still hummed through his earbuds. He took out the other bud and set the whole thing aside.

“I can’t stop, Thor,” he answered, even more quietly than Thor had spoken. “I know it’s unhealthy. I’m not an idiot. I just … I didn’t mean to start, but now I can’t stop.”

“Why not?” Thor hardly dared to breathe, lest he break whatever spell had fallen over them and allowed Loki to speak to Thor openly for the first time in weeks. “It can’t be that hard to just eat something.”

“But it is. You don’t understand.” Frustration colored Loki’s voice before he sighed. “You know, I could have gone to school anywhere. Harvard, Yale, wherever. My grades were good enough. I’m smart enough.”

“I thought you wanted to stay close to home,” Thor replied.  _Close to me._

“I did. It’s just … I feel like a failure all the time, Thor. My classes aren’t hard, but I work hard so that I can feel  _challenged._  I work ahead, and I’m still bored. And my brain - it’s always going, you know? I think too much, I always have.”

It was very hard to deliberately let his fingers drift to Loki’s hair, and make it seem as if the gesture was an unconscious reflex, but Thor managed. He smoothed some of Loki’s hair back, lingering. “Loki,” he said, patiently, “I don’t understand what that has to do with eating.”

“Neither do I,” Loki admitted. “I just know that I’m all tied up inside, all the time, and the feeling I get when I’m hungry, or when I’m losing weight, or when I’m running … it makes it all stop. For awhile. It makes me feel better. Like I’m flying, like I’m  _magic_. It’s … powerful, Thor. I feel like I crave that power more than I could ever crave food. And knowing how it feels makes it really, really hard to let it go again.”

It didn’t make sense to Thor. Loki might as well have been speaking another language. “You can’t be powerful,” he said, “if you’re dead.”

At that, Loki rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to die. I have it under control.”

“You look like a corpse,” Thor told him. “I mean, you were thin to begin with, but now …” He trailed off, swallowing a sudden tightness in his throat. If Loki died, Thor would die, too. He felt the truth of that in his bones.

“So dramatic,” Loki said with a sigh, and closed his eyes. “That feels nice,” he added, as Thor kept his face impassive, continuing to thread his fingers through Loki’s hair.

Before he knew what he was doing, Thor was leaning down. He let his palm rest against Loki’s neck, his thumb brushing Loki’s jaw, as he leaned down and pressed his lips lightly to Loki’s. It was just a whisper of contact, the most chaste of kisses, but Thor felt it all the way down to his core. He drew back enough to see that Loki’s eyes had flown open, that they were wide - but not, Thor thought, displeased. Only surprised.

“I’ll help you,” Thor whispered, and straightened again. “I’ll help you stop. Promise me you’ll try, Loki. Please.”

Moments stretched, from one to the next, as Loki looked back at him. He brought his hand to his mouth, fingers ghosting across his lips, as Thor watched. Then, Loki swallowed hard, and he nodded.

“I’ll try,” he said, and closed his eyes again. “For you.”


	12. XII.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valki, Thor and Loki, IW. Loki defeats Thanos - but at a price. Word count: 1300

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Major character death. Sorry :(

**XII.  
_Prompt:_** _Loki defeats Thanos with his super sorcerer powers (and not daggers...) to protect his people, his brother and his Valkyrie._

 

Somewhere, there is an alarm buzzing. It sounds like a horn. The sound physically grates on Loki’s brain as it ebbs and flows, sometimes louder, sometimes softer. A steady, painful pulse. “Turn it off,” he demands, only his voice does not come out commanding at all; it is a mere whisper, a shadow, unheard in all the chaos.

A good portion of their people were dead. Slain. Blood everywhere. Death has a smell, and it fills the ship where once the remaining, proud Asgardians stood and watched the coronation of their new king. It is not dissimilar to the smell of a battlefield, with its stench of blood and intestines, of fear and sweat and tears, of smoke and fire. Thanos’s ship had begun firing upon the  _Statesman_  almost immediately after Thor and Loki saw it rise from the depths of space in front of their eyes. There had hardly been time to react.

Some made it off in escape pods. Loki remembers Hulk literally throwing handfuls of Asgardians onto the pods. Thanos and his Black Order chose to board the ship rather than chase down the fleeing escapees, which was the only thing that saved them. On board the ship, not many were so lucky.

Loki froze. He remembers  _that_ with perfect clarity - faced with Thanos in the flesh, after so many years of tormented nightmares, he froze. He froze while others fought, he froze while his people were slaughtered in droves, like livestock, and afterward Ebony Maw stepped over their broken, lifeless bodies and preached the word of Thanos.

Listening to that particular voice again - watching him move, in the flesh, his skinny fingers tapping together like the bare branches of dead trees - made Loki physically ill. He’d wanted to vomit. Yet it had snapped something inside of him, and he’d found himself able to think again. Able to  _move_  again.

The alarm is screaming, seemingly louder now, and Loki squeezes his eyes shut. “Thor,” Loki whispers. He can hear voices, mixed in with the alarm, and he doesn’t know if one of them is his brother’s. He doesn’t know if one of them is Valkyrie’s. Who is dead? Who has survived? Loki has failed them all, so perhaps it does not much matter.

He is completely, utterly drained. He remembers the Hulk returning to pounce on Thanos. The Tesseract had clattered away as Loki dove for Thor, shoving him out of the path. And after that - after that -

There is an emptiness in his core that feels wrong. The emptiness is the only thing he can feel - otherwise, there is no pain, and for that, he can be grateful. The last time he died, the pain had been quite remarkable.

“Loki!” Someone drops to their knees beside him, and Loki manages to open his eyes. Thor. Thor is alive, after all. There is blood dripping from his mouth; he is bruised and blackened with soot and ash. “Oh, Loki,” Thor says, and the next thing Loki knows, Thor is cradling his head, tilting him upwards, and Loki wishes he would not, for it causes a piercing throb to slice through his temples. Moving hurts, apparently.

“No,” Loki manages, but Thor misunderstands him.

“It’s all right,” Thor says, pushing some of Loki’s hair back. He lifts his head, shouts at someone, “I need a healer! Please, a healer!”

“You needn’t bother,” Loki gets out. Thor is pressing his free hand, the one not cradling Loki’s head, to Loki’s abdomen. It comes away drenched in crimson.

Valkyrie, seemingly out of nowhere, appears next to Thor. “Oh,” she says, blankly, when she gets a good look at Loki. He wonders what she sees. She goes to Loki’s other side, kneeling down, her eyes bright. “Oh,” she says again. “This - Loki -”

He smiles at her. He had lost track of her, somewhere in the battle, but she is a warrior and a Valkyrie and he never doubted she would survive. Indeed, she looks worse for the wear, as covered in blood and bruises as the rest of them, but she is all right. She is alive.

“Val,” he murmurs, and the corners of Valkyrie’s mouth tighten. He’s never called her _Val_ before, but it is short, and easy. He’s having trouble breathing.

Her hand finds one of his and she squeezes, tightly. Are those tears? Does she cry for him? He wants to tell her not to waste them, but he cannot deny a small part of him is pleased. If ever he wanted proof of her feelings, it is in the sorrow that spills from her eyes and lands on his own cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks back at Thor. How familiar, this scene. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I let you down, Thor. If I - if I had acted sooner -”

“No - no, you  _saved_  us,” Thor replies, and looks up again. “Goddamn it,  _please,_  a healer!”

“There aren’t any,” Valkyrie says, and Thor jerks his head to look at her. She’s frowning, pressing her lips together. “Thor, there aren’t any. There’s hardly anyone left.”

“I don’t accept -”

“Thor,” Loki breaks in, and Thor looks down at him. “It’s all right, brother.”

_It was always going to be this way._

Loki cannot manage the words, but perhaps Thor understands anyway, because his face sort of crumples. He lets out a sob and drops his head to Loki’s chest. Loki hears him whimpering,  _no, not again, please, Loki,_  but all Loki can do is lay there, feeling the life draining out of him bit by bit, knowing there is nothing that can be done.

More memories are slipping back. He remembers another fight. Thanos had taken down the Hulk with such ease that it was terrifying, but once Loki had come back into himself, his body - muscle memory, pure adrenaline - took care of the rest. Fear became lost to anger, to vengeance, to sorrow. Magic flying everywhere, so much energy that the ship had cracked and faltered under the weight of it. The Black Order was easy to kill, once Loki remembered  _how_. And Thanos - Thanos was too strong, too powerful.

Loki managed to take him down.

Thanos would not go without taking Loki with him.

It was always going to be this way.

Now here lies Loki, in a puddle of his own blood, his seiðr drained beyond even the flimsiest healing magic. Thor and Valkyrie are weeping over him, but Loki feels only numbness. He hears that screeching alarm. A distress beacon, a broken transmit. Too little, too late.

“Thor,” Loki says, and Thor lifts his head to look at Loki. He cups his hand around Loki’s neck. “Brother.”

There is so much he wants to say. A thousand years worth of words he wants to say. Loki cannot find the air. 

Thor seems to feel the same, as his mouth opens and closes a few times. “You’re not the worst,” he finally gets out, and Loki almost smiles. “You’re not the worst,” Thor says again, his eyes very bright. “You’re  _everything_ , brother.” 

Loki understands. 

He turns his head enough to look at Valkyrie, whose face is streaked with tears. It is not a sight he ever thought he’d see. And he loves her, his heart thuds with the strength of it. Their time had been much too short. It is unfair, but the Norns have never shown fairness toward Loki, so he is not very surprised that he was never going to be allowed to keep this.

Valkyrie brings one of his hands to her lips, presses her mouth to his knuckles. It is the last thing Loki is aware of.

When he closes his eyes, darkness slips over him. The alarm finally stops screeching. He feels like he can breathe again.

Above him, the sun is shining.


End file.
